^ 


Gleanings  from  Popular  Authoes, 

GRAVE    AND    GAY, 


"STBAIGHT    TO    THE    MAYOR    HE    TOOK    HIS    WAY.' 


Gleanings 


FROM 


Popular  Authors, 


GRAVE    AND    GAY. 


illudtrateti* 


■*.  . 


Cassell    &    Company,    Limited 

LONDON,    PARIS,    NEW    YORK    f     MELBOURNE. 
[all   rights   reserved.] 


GIFT  OP 


T 


^17 


My  Child-Wife       . 
Bret  Harte  in  Verse 
A  Spoilt  Boy- 
Paul  Revere' s  Eide 
A  Highland  Feud   . 
The  Rhine  and  the  Moselle 
Sent  to  God 
His  Speech 

The  Autobiography  of  a  Wedding 
How  to  Wash  a  Dog- 
Thc  Christmas  Choir 
Winstanley 
Rip  Van  Winkle     . 
The  Falcon 

A  Quarter-Hour  Chime 
Love  in  a  Balloon 
The  Discontented  Pendulum 
The  Ballad  of  Carmilhan   . 
My  Fare 

Ten  Minutes  with  Puck     . 
The  Taming  of  the  Shrew 
Two  Clever  Sailors 
Attacked  by  Pirates 
The  Prisoner  of  Chillon 
Check  to  a  Burglar 
Mi.  and  Mrs.  Tibbs  at  Vauxhall 
The  Tiger    . 

The  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram 
Baron  Trenck 
Jack  Goodwin's  Joke 
The  Grave  of  Maclcod  of  Dare 
Nothing  to  Wear    . 
The  Soap  and  Wathcr 
The  Slave  Ship 


Ring 


Charles  Dickens 

Captain  Makryat    . 

Henky  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

Sir  Walter  Scott 

Edwin  Aknold 

Max  Adeler 

W.  R.  S.  Ralston 

Thomas  Hardy 
Jean  Ingelow 
Washington  Irving 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes   . 

Theyrb  Smith 

Jane  Taylor 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 

G.  Manville  Fenn  . 

H.  Cholmondeley-Pennell 

Charles  Lamb 

Heraclitus  Grey 

Charles  Reade 

Lord  Byron 

G.  Manville  Fenn  . 

Oliver  Goldsmith  . 

William  Blake 

Thomas  Hood 


William  Black 
William  Allan  Butler 
Samuel  Lover 
J.  G.  Whittier 


PAGE 

2 
6 
8 

12 
14 
19 

20 
22 
26 
27 
28 
32 
36 
42 
44 
48 
51 
52 
55 
58 
60 
64 
65 
70 
74 
78 
79 
80 
82 


92 
97 
99 


iVilS7508 


CONTENTS. 


Tho  Bachelor's  Thermomctur 

Briury  Villas 

Home  Again 

The  Leaden  "Weight 

Broken  Hearts 

Niagara  in  Winter 

The  Song  of  the  Shirt 

At  Mrs.  Jellyby's 

Ben  Blower's  Story 

A  Eeally  Good  Day's  Fishing 

Lord  Ullin's  Daughter 

My  Uncle  Roland's  Tale 

Bevis  at  Home 

Poor  Miss  Finch     . 

Captain  Reece 

The  Tower  of  London 

Leedle  Yawcoh  Strauss 

Happy  Thoughts    . 

The  Value  of  Thought 

Rupert's  March 

Mr.  Rabbit  and  Mr.  Fox 

First  Blood 

My  Mistakes 

Tho  Bells    . 

My  Examination    . 

A  Cold  Reception  . 

King  John  and  the  Abbot 

Sleighing  in  the  Snow 

My  Aunt     . 

The  Bravery  of  Bailie  Nicol  Jarvio 

A  Dreadful  Affair 

The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner 

The  Dilemma  of  Phadrig 

Horre  Riel 

A  Literarj-  Dinner 

To  Althea  from  Prison 

In  Wonderland 

The  Briefless  Barrister 

The  Vicar's  Guest 

The  Shipwreck 

Mrs.  Brown  on  the  Army 

The  Showman's  Song 


James  SMrrn 

William  Sawyer 

Chahles  Gibbon 

Geo.  Augustus  Sala 

Thomas  Hood 

Charles  Dickens 

Charles  F.  Hoffman 

James  Payn 

Thomas  Campbell 

Lord  Lytton 

Richard  Jefferier 

WjLKiE  Collins 

W.  S.  Gilbert 

William  Hepworth  Dixon 

Charles  F.  Adams 

F.  C.  BURNAND 

John  Ruskin 
Walter  Thornburt 
J.  C.  Harris 
J.  Fenimorb  Cooper 
Richard  Whiteino  . 
Edgar  Allan  Poe    . 
Captain  Marryat    . 
F.  W.  Robinson 
From  "  The  Pircy  Mcliqiies  " 
Colonel  Fred  Burnaby 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 
Sir  Walter  Scott 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge 
Gerald  Griffin 
Robert  Browning 
W.  M.  Thackeray 
Richard  Lovelace 
William  Senior 
John  G.  Saxe 
Thomas  Archer 
Jane  Porter 
Arthur  Sketch  ley 
Henry  J.  Byuon 


CONTENTS. 


Mist 


Brought  to  Bay 

Her  Letter 

Othello  en  Amateur 

Boys  will  he  Boys 

Four    London    Lyrics  : — Jly 

Mrs.  Smith  ;  The  Housemaid ; 

sweeper 
The  Story  of  Lc  Fevro 
The  Jackdaw  of  Eheims     . 
The  Tale  of  the  English  Sailor 
Gone  Home  on  New  Year's  Eve 
Mr.  Grains'  Lake    . 
The  Strangest  Adventure 
Phoohe's  Suitor 
Attorney  Sneak 
The  Fox's  Tale 
The  Homes  of  the  Poor 
Ode  to  a  Nightingale 
The  First  Mate 
Grizzly 

The  Pauper's  Drive 
The  Two  Wellors    . 
The  Apple  Dumplings  and  a  King 
The  Pit  and  the  Pendulum 
Home  Troubles 
The  Buccaneer's  Treasure 
The  Courtin' 
Going  Home 
Our  Jerusalem  Pony 
The  Spanish  Armada 
What  I  went  through  to  get  Her 
Master  and  Man 
The  Shandon  Bells 
One  Struggle 

Gil  Bias'  Adventures  at  Pennaflor 
A  Fatal  Attachment 
The  Boat  Race 

Helping  a  Lame  Dog  over  a  Stile 
Fair  Rosamond 
The  Showman's  Courtship 
A  Thank  Offering 
The  Story  of  a  Gridiron     . 


B-UET  Haute 
Chaules  Leveh 


ross's    Boots 
The  Crossing- 


PAGB 

222 
225 
226 
230 


FuEDEIilCK    LOCKEII 

234 

Laukence  Stekne     . 

236 

The  Rev.  Thomas  Bakham 

240 

Captain  Marry  at 

243 

F.  E.  Weathekly 

246 

Lt.-Colokel  Hough 

249 

. 

250 

Miss  Bkaddon 

253 

Robert  Buchanan    . 

257 

Samuel  liOVEu           .            .            . 

259 

Mrs.  Henry  Wood  . 

263 

John  Keats 

268 

Jaaies  Russell  Lowell 

269 

Walter  Besant  and  James  Rice  . 

270 

Thomas  Noel 

273 

Charles  Dickens 

274 

Dr.  Wolcot 

276 

Edgar  Allan  Poe 

278 

. 

.             .         284 

Washington  Irving 

286 

James  Russell  Lowell 

289 

Edmund  Yates 

289 

James  Payn 

292 

Lord  Macau  lay 

295 

Lt.-Colonel  Hough 

297 

Thomas  Crofton  Croker     . 

302 

From  "  The  Reliques  of  Father  Prout'^ 

305 

F.  W.  Robinson 

306 

Alain  Rene  Le  Sage 

308 

W.  M.  Thackeray  .             . 

311 

W.  C.  Bennett 

315 

Frank  E.  Smkdley 

317 

Owen  Meredith  (The  Earl  of  Lytto: 

V)               .         321 

Aktemus  Ward 

324 

G.  Manville  Fenn 

326 

Samuel  Lover 

329 

The  Vision  of  the  Maid  of  ( )ilo!ins 

Drawn  for  a  Soldier 

The  Eibbonman 

Ballad 

FalstafiE  the  Valiant 

The  Tired  Jester     .  .  . 

The  Clergyman's  Story 

The  Lays  of  Longfellow :  The  Day  is  Done ; 
The  Burial  of  the  llinnisink ;  The  Village 
Blacksmith ;  "Weariness ,  The  Children's 
Hour;  King  Christian;  The  Rainy  Day 

The  Siege  of  Torquilstone  . 

Noble  Poverty 

Mazeppa's  Punishment 

Striking  He . 

Bardell  against  Pickwick    . 

At  the  Alma 

The  Blind  Linnet  . 


CONTENTS. 

PACE 

Egbert  Sox;  they 

333 

Thomas  Hood 

337 

William  Cakleton  . 

338 

0.  S.  Calyekley 

342 

Shakespeare 

343 

William  Sawyer     . 

345 

Charles  Dickens     . 

.346 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 
Sir  Walter  Scott  . 
Laurence  Sterne     . 
Lord  Byron 

Walter  Besant  and  James  Rice 
Charles  Dickens     . 
William  Howard  Russell 
Robert  Buchanan    . 


350 

355 
358 
3G0 
3G2 
366 
371 
376 


.r       •'* 


INTRODUCTOEY. 


HERE  are  times  when,  per- 
;;"  haps  with  a  few  minutes 
to  spare,  or  maybe  weary, 
a  lover  of  reading  says  to 
himself,  "  I  want  a  book  ; " 
and  he  feels  that  he  requires 
a  volume  upon  which  he  can  lay 
his  hand,  and  without  trouble  or 
research,  open  it  anywhere,  sure 
of  finding  something  into  which, 
without  preface  or  introduction,  he 
can  plunge  at  once.  His  want  is 
a  work,  not  by  any  particular  writer, 
but  one  in  which  he  can  meet  with 
some  of  the  best  sayings  of  the  best 
authors  :  of  those  who  can  paint  the  pas- 
sions of  the  human  breast  in  prose  or  verse, 
and  of  those  who  can,  by  a  few  touches  of 
the  pen,  descriptively  place  a  glowing  scene 
before  the  reader's  eyes  ;  of  the  historian 
and  the  humourist ;  of  all,  in  short,  of  those 
whose  writings  bear  the  hall-mark  of  intrinsic 
merit,  stamped  by  the  great  jury  of  the  read- 
ing world.  Su.ch  a  work  as  this  will  be  placed 
before  the  reader  •  a  treasury,  in  fact,  of  pieces 
suitable  for  reading  in  public,  in  private,  on  the 
platform,  or  in  the  easy  chair ;  in  silent  com- 
muning with  the  author's  thoughts,  or  to  a  listening 
circle  at  the  fireside. 

In  these  days  of  multiplicity  of  publications, 
and  ease  of  communication  with  goodly  libraries, 
there  should  be  no  difficulty  in  at  once  finding 
something  to  interest  a  public  or  private  reader, 

A 


or  one  who  solely  seeks  instruction  or  amusement ; 
but,  even  with  an  infinity  of  books  around,  the 
would-be  reader  finds  no  little  difficulty  in  selecting 
a  short  comprehensive  extract,  one  that  combines 
the  qualities  of  beginning  and  ending  well,  explain- 
ing itself,  being  free  from  errors  of  bad  taste,  and, 
above  all,  riveting  the  attention  from  first  to  last. 
Here,  then,  will  be  found  what  is  justly  looked 
upon  as  the  very  essence  of  our  best  writers,  in 
selections  suitable  for  a  few  minutes'  reading,  with 
their  shorter  pieces  gathered  from  divers  works,  and 
linked  together  as  a  comprehensive  whole.  Well- 
known  sketches  that  have  become  classic,  and  are 
as  much  favoured  as  our  good  old  songs,  are  in- 
troduced ;  but,  in  addition,  pages  have  been  taken 
from  authors  far  less  read,  but  whose  works  it  is 
believed  will  be  found  to  possess  the  qualities  so 
necessary  here.  Translations  from  some  of  the 
best  Continental  writers  will  be  found  side  by  side 
with  the  emanations  from  the  minds  of  that  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  across  the  Atlantic,  whose  writings 
need  no  translation  :  for  the  touchstone  applied 
is  to  prove  whether  the  extract  be  of  genuine  in- 
terest, and  if  so,  its  place  will  be  within  these  pages. 
A  reasonable  balance  has  been  preserved  between 
prose  and  verse,  the  humorous,  the  pathetic,  and 
those  thrilling  descriptive  scenes  in  which  so  many 
of  our  writers  excel.  For  the  Editor's  aim  has 
been  to  produce  such  a  work  as  will  satisfy  the 
most  exacting.  Whether  to  entertain  others  or 
for  private  reading,  here  is  ample  store— a  book 
that  will  be  always  welcome,  and  reluctantly 
laid  down. 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


MY    CHILD-WIFE.* 

[From  "David  Copperfield."    By  Charles  Dickens.] 


>OMETIMES,  of  an  evening,  when  I  was 
at  home  and  at  work — for  I  wrote  a 
good  deal  now,  and  was  beginning  in 
a  small  way  to  be  known  as  a  writer 
— I  would  lay  down  my  pen,  and 
watch  my  child -wife  trying  to  be  good. 
First  of  all,  she  would  bring  out  the 
immense  account-book,  and  lay  it  down 
xipon  the  table,  with  a  deep  sigh.  Then  she  would 
open  it  at  the  place  where  Jip  had  made  it 
illegible  last  night,  and  call  Jip  up  to  look  at 
his  misdeeds.  This  would  occasion  a  diversion  in 
Jip's  favour,  and  some  inking  of  his  nose,  perhaps, 
as  a  penalty.  Then  she  would  tell  Jip  to  lie  down 
on  the  table  instantly,  "like  a  lion  "—which  was 
one  of  his  tricks,  though  I  cannot  say  the  likeness 
was  striking  —  and,  if  he  were  in  an  obedient 
humour,  he  would  obey.  Then  she  would  take  up 
a  pen,  and  begin  to  write,  and  find  a  hair  in  it. 
Then  she  would  take  up  another  pen,  and  begin  to 
write,  and  find  that  it  spluttered.  Then  she  would 
take  up  another  pen,  and  begin  to  write,  and  say 
in  a  low  voice,  "  Oh,  it's  a  talking  pen,  and  will 
disturb  Doady  !"  And  then  she  would  give  it  up 
as  a  bad  job,  and  put  the  account  book  away,  after 
pretending  to  crush  the  lion  with  it. 

Or,  if  she  were  in  a  very  sedate  and  serious  state 
of  mind,  she  would  sit  down  with  the  tablets,  and 
a  little  basket  of  bills  and  other  documents,  which 


remembrance  of  her  natural  gaiety  when  I  first 
strayed  into  her  path,  and  of  her  being  my  child- 
wife,  would  come  reproachfully  upon  me  ;  and  I 
would  lay  the  pencil  down,  and  call  for  the  guitar. 
******** 

When  the  debates  were  heavy — I  mean  as  to 
length,  not  quality,  for  in  the  last  respect  they 
were  not  often  otherwise — and  I  went  home  late, 
Dora  would  never  rest  when  she  heard  my  foot- 
steps, but  would  always  come  down  stairs  to  meet 
me.  When  my  tjvenings  were  unoccupied  by  the 
pursuit  for  which  I  had  qualified  myself  with  so 
much  pains,  and  I  was  engaged  in  writing  at  home, 
she  would  sit  quietly  near  me,  however  late  the 
hour,  and  be  so  mute,  that  I  would  often  think  she 
had  dropped  asleep.  But  generally,  when  I  raised 
my  head,  I  saw  her  blue  eyes  looking  at  me  with 
the  quiet  attention  of  which  I  have  already 
spoken. 

"Oh,  what  a  weary  boy  !"  said  Dora  one  night, 
when  I  met  her  eyes  as  I  was  shutting  up  my 
desk. 

"What  a  weary  girl  !"  said  I.  "That's  more  to 
the  purpose.  You  must  go  to  bed  another  time, 
my  love.     It's  far  too  late  for  ypu." 

"  No,  don't  send  me  to  bed  !"  pleaded  Dora, 
coming  to  my  side.     "  Pray  don't  do  that ! " 

"Dora!" 

To   my   amazement   she  was   sobbing  on  my 


looked  more  like  curl-papers  than  anything  else,  !  neck. 


and  endeavour  to  get  some  result  out  of  them. 
After  severely  comparing  one  ^vith  another,  and 
making  entries  on  the  tablets,  and  blotting  them 
out,  and  counting  all  the  fingers  of  her  left  hand 


over  and  over  again,  backwards  and  forwards,  she  i  night ! "  I  replied. 


"  Not  well,  my  dear     not  happy  !" 
"  Yes  !  quite  well,  and  very  hayjpy  !"  said  Dora. 
"  But  say  you'll  let  me  stop  and  see  you  write." 
"  Why,  what  a  sight  for  such  bright  eyes  at  mid- 


would  be  so  vexed  and  discouraged,  and  would 
look  so  unhappy,  that  it  gave  me  pain  to  see  her 
bright  face  clouded — and  for  me  ! — and  I  would  go 
softly  to  her  and  say  : 

"  What's  the  matter,  Dora  ]" 

Dora  would  look  up  hopelessly,  and  reply,  "  They 
won't  come  right.  They  make  my  head  ache  so. 
And  they  won't  do  anything  I  want  !" 

Then  I  would  say,  "Now,  let  us  try  together. 
Let  me  show  you,  Dora," 

Then  I  would  commence  a  practical  demon- 
stration, to  which  Dora  would  pay  profound  atten- 
tion, perhaps  for  five  minutes  ;  when  she  would 
begin  to  be  dreadfully  tired,  and  would  lighten  the 
subject  by  curling  my  hair,  or  trying  the  effect  of 
my  face  with  my  shirt-collar  turned  down.  If  I 
tacitly  checked  this  playfulness,  and  persisted, 
she  would  look  so  scared  and  disconsolate,  as 
she  became  more  and  more  bewildered,  that  the 


"Are  they  bright,  though?"  returned  Dora, 
laughing.    "  I'm  so  glad  they're  bright." 

"  Little  Vanity  ! "  said  I. 

But  it  was  not  vanity  ;  it  was  only  harmless 
delight  in  my  admiration.  I  knew  that  very  well, 
before  she  told  me  so. 

"  If  you  think  them  pretty,  say  I  may  always 
stop,  and  see  you  write  ! "  said  Dora.  "  Do  you 
think  them  pretty?" 

"Very  pretty." 

"  Then  let  me  always  stop  and  see  you  write." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  won't  improve  their  bright- 
ness, Dora." 

"  Yes  it  will  !  Because,  you  clever  boy,  you'll 
not  forget  me  then,  while  you  are  full  of  silent 
fancies.  Will  you  mind  it,  if  I  say  something 
very,  very  silly? — more  than  usual?"  inquired 
Dora,  peeping  over  my  shoulder  into  my  face. 

"  What  wonderful  thing  is  that  ? "  said  L 


•  By  permission  of  Messrs.  Chapman  and  Hall  (Limited). 


3n 


^ 


MY   CHILD-WIFE. 


"  Please  let  me  hold  the  pens,"  said  Dora.  "  I 
want  to  have  something  to  do  with  all  those  many- 
hours  when  you  are  so  industrious.  May  I  hold 
the  pensi" 

The  remembrance  of  her  pretty  joy  when  I  said 
"  Yes,"  brings  tears  into  my  eyes.  The  next  time  I 
sat  down  to  write,  and  regularly  afterwards,  she 
sat  in  her  old  place,  with  a  spare  bundle  of  pens  at 
her  side.  Her  triumph  in  this  connection  with 
my  work,  and  her  delight  when  I  wanted  a  new 
pen — which  I  very  often  feigned  to  do — suggested 
to  me  a  new  way  of  pleasing  my  child-wife.  I 
occasionally  made  a  pretence  of  wanting  a  page  or 
two  of  manuscript  copied.  Then  Dora  was  in  her 
glory.  The  preparations  she  made  for  this  great 
work,  the  aprons  she  put  on,  the  bibs  she  borrowed 
from  the  kitchen  to  keep  off  the  ink,  the  time  she 
took,  the  innumerable  stoppages  she  made  to  have 
a  laugh  with  Jip  as  if  he  understood  it  all,  her 
conviction  that  her  work  was  incomplete  unless 
she  signed  her  name  at  the  end,  and  the  way  in 
which  she  would  bring  it  to  me,  like  a  school-copy, 
and  then,  when  I  praised  it,  clasp  me  round  the 
neck,  are  touching  recollections  to  me,  simple  as 
they  might  apjiear  to  other  men. 

She  took  possession  of  the  keys  soon  after  this, 
and  went  jingling  about  the  house  with  the  whole 
bunch  in  a  little  basket,  tied  to  her  slender  waist. 
I  seldom  found  that  the  places  to  which  they 
belonged  were  locked,  or  that  they  were  of  any 
use  except  as  a  plaything  for  Jip — but  Dora  was 
pleased,  and  that  pleased  me.  She  was  quite 
satisfied  that  a  good  deal  was  effected  by  this 
make-belief  of  house-keeping ;  and  was  as  merry 
as  if  we  had  been  keeping  a  baby-house  for  a 
joke. 

******** 

All  else  grows  dim,  and  fades  away.  I  am  again 
with  Dora  in  our  cottage.  I  do  not  know  how 
long  she  has  been  ill.  I  am  so  used  to  it  in  feeling, 
that  I  cannot  count  the  time.  It  is  not  really  long, 
in  weeks  or  months ;  but  in  my  usage  and  ex- 
perience, it  is  a  weary,  weary  while. 

They  have  left  off  telling  me  to  "  wait  a  few 
days  more."  I  have  begun  to  fear,  remotely,  that 
the  day  may  never  shine  when  I  shall  see  my  child- 
wife  running  in  the  sunlight  with  her  old  friend 
Jip. 

He  is,  as  it  were,  suddenly  grown  very  old.  It 
may  be  that  he  misses  in  his  mistress  something 
that  enlivened  him  and  made  him  younger  ;  but 
he  mopes,  and  his  sight  is  weak,  and  his  limbs  are 
feeble,  and  my  aunt  is  sorry  that  he  objects  to  her 
no  more,  but  creeps  near  her  as  he  lies  on  Dora's 
bed — she  sitting  at  the  bedside — and  mildly  licks 
her  hand. 

Dora  lies  smiling  on  us,  and  is  beautiful,  and 
utters  no  hasty  or  complaining  word.  She  says 
that  we  are  very  good  to  her ;  that  her  dear  old 


careful  boy  is  tiring  himself  out,  she  knows  ;  that 
my  aunt  has  no  sleep,  yet  is  always  wakeful,  active, 
and  kind.  Sometimes  the  little  bird-like  ladies- 
come  to  see  her ;  and  then  we  talk  about  our 
wedding-day,  and  all  that  happy  time. 

What  a  strange  rest  and  pause  in  my  life  there 
seems  to  be— and  in  all  life,  within  doors  and 
without — when  I  sit  in  the  quiet,  shaded,  orderly 
room,  with  the  blue  eyes  of  my  child-wife  turned 
towards  me,  and  her  little  fingers  twining  round 
my  hand  !  Many  and  many  an  hour  I  sit  thus  ; 
but,  of  all  those  times,  three  times  come  the 
freshest  on  my  mind. 

It  is  morning ;  and  Dora,  made  so  trim  by  my 
aunt's  hands,  shows  me  how  her  pretty  hair  will 
curl  upon  the  pillow  yet,  and  how  long  and  bright 
it  is,  and  how  she  likes  to  have  it  loosely  gathered 
in  that  net  she  wears. 

"  Not  that  I  am  vain  of  it,  now,  you  mocking 
boy,"  she  says,  when  I  smile ;  "  but  because  you 
used  to  say  you  thought  it  so  beautiful ;  and 
because,  when  I  first  began  to  think  about  you,  I 
used  to  peep  in  the  glass,  and  wonder  whether 
you  would  like  very  much  to  have  a  lock  of  it. 
Oh,  what  a  foolish  fellow  you  were^oady,  when 
I  gave  you  one  ! " 

"  That  was  on  the  day  when  you  were  painting 
the  flowers  I  had  given  you,  Dora,  and  when  I 
told  you  how  much  in  love  I  was." 

"Ah  !"  but  I  didn't  like  to  tell  >/oti"  says  Dora, 
"  then,  how  I  had  cried  over  them,  because  1 
believed  you  really  liked  me  !  When  I  can  run 
about  again  as  I  used  to  do,  Doady,  let  us  go  and 
see  those  places  where  we  were  such  a  silly  couple,^ 
shall  we  ]  And  take  some  of  the  old  walks  1  And 
not  forget  poor  papa  1 " 

"  Yes,  we  will,  and  have  some  happy  days.  So- 
you  must  make  haste  to  get  well,  my  dear." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  soon  do  that !  I  ain  so  much  better, 
you  don't  know  !" 

It  is  evening ;  and  I  sit  in  the  same  chair,  by 
the  same  bed,  with  the  same  face  turned  towards- 
me.  We  have  been  silent,  and  there  is  a  smile 
upon  her  face.  I  have  ceased  to  carry  my  light 
burden  up  and  down  stairs  now.  She  lies  here  all 
the  day. 

"Doady!" 

"  My  dear  Dora  !" 

"  You  won't  think  what  I  am  going  to  say,  un- 
reasonable, after  what  you  told  me,  such  a  little 
while  ago,  of  Mr.  Wickfield's  not  being  well  1  I 
want  to  see  Agnes.  Very  much  I  want  to  see 
her." 

"  I  will  write  to  her,  my  dear." 

"Will  you f 

"Directly" 

"  What  a  good,  kind  boy  !    Doady,  take  me  ort 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


your  arm.  Indeed,  my  dear,  it's  not  a  whim.  It's 
not  a  foolish  fancy.  I  want,  very  much  indeed,  to 
see  her." 

"  I  am  certain  of  it.  I  have  only  to  tell  her  so, 
and  she  is  sure  to  come." 

"  You  are  very  lonely  when  you  go  down  stairs 
now  ]"  Dora  whispers,  with  her  arm  about  my  neck. 

"  How  can  I  be  otherwise,  my  own  love,  when  I 
see  your  empty  chair  ]" 

"My  empty  chair  !"  She  clings  to  me  for  a 
little  whUe  in  silence.    "  And  you  really  miss  me, 


"  I  won't,  if  I  can  help  it,  Doady.  But  I  am 
very  happy  ;  though  my  dear  boy  is  so  lonely  by 
himself,  before  his  child-wife's  empty  chair  !" 

It  is  night ;  and  I  am  with  her  still.  Agnes  has 
arrived  ;  has  been  among  us  for  a  whole  day  and 
an  evening.  She,  my  aunt,  and  I,  have  sat  with 
Dora  since  the  morning,  all  together.  We  have 
not  talked  much,  but  Dora  has  been  perfectly  con- 
tented and  cheerful.    We  are  now  alone. 

Do  I  know  now  that  my  child-wife  will  soon 


My  Child-wife.     {Drdun  hy  F.  Barnard.) 


Doady  ? "  looking  up,  and  brightly  smiling.  "  Even 
poor,  giddy,  stupid  me  V 

"  My  heart,  who  is  there  upon  earth  that  I  could 
miss  so  much  ? " 

"Oh, husband  !  I  am  so  glad,  yet  so  sorry  !" 
creeping  closer  to  me,  and  folding  me  in  both  her 
arms.  She  laughs  and  sobs,  and  then  is  quiet  and 
quite  happy. 

"Quite  !"  she  says.  "  Only  give  Agnes  my  dear 
love,  and  tell  her  that  I  want  very,  very  much  to 
see  her ;  and  I  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for." 

"  Except  to  get  well  again,  Dora." 

"  Ah,  Doady  !  Sometimes  I  think — you  know 
I  always  was  a  silly  little  thing  ! — that  that  will 
never  be  !" 

"  Don't  say  so,  Dora  !  Dearest  love,  don't  think 
sol" 


leave  me  1  They  have  told  me  so  ;  they  have  told 
me  nothing  new  to  my  thoughts;  but  I  am  far 
from  sure  that  I  have  taken  that  truth  to  heart. 
I  cannot  master  it.  I  have  withdrawn  by  myself 
many  times  to-day  to  weep.  I  have  remembered 
Who  wept  for  a  parting  between  the  living  and  the 
dead.  I  have  bethought  me  of  all  that  gracious 
and  compassionate  history.  I  have  tried  to  resign 
myself  and  to  console  myself  ;  and  that,  I  hope,  I 
may  have  done  imperfectly ;  but  what  I  cannot 
firmly  settle  in  my  mind  is,  that  the  end  will 
absolutely  come.  I  hold  her  hand  in  mine,  I  hold 
her  heart  in  mine,  I  see  her  love  for  me,  alive  in 
all  its  strengtL  I  cannot  shut  out  a  pale  lingering 
shadow  of  belief  that  she  will  be  spared. 

"I  am  going  to  speak  to  you,  Doady.    I  am 
going  to  say  something  I  have  often  thought  of 


MY   CHILD-WIFE. 


saying  lately.  You  won't  mind?"  with  a  gentle 
look. 

"  Mind,  my  darling  1" 

"  Because  I  don't  know  what  you  will  think,  or 
what  you  may  have  thought  sometimes.  Perhaps 
you  have  often  thought  the  same.  Doady,  dear,  I 
am  afraid  I  was  too  young." 

I  lay  my  face  upon  the  pillow  by  her,  and 
she  looks  into  my  eyes  and  speaks  very  softly. 
Gradually,  as  she  goes  on,  I  feel,  with  a  stricken 
heart,  that  she  is  speaking  of  herself  as  past. 

"  I  am  afraid,  dear,  I  was  too  young.  I  don't 
mean  in  years  only,  but  in  experience,  and  thoughts, 
and  everything.  I  was  such  a  silly  little  creature  ! 
I  am  afraid  it  would  have  been  better  if  we  had 
only  loved  each  other  as  a  boy  and  girl  and  for- 
gotten it.  I  have  begun  to  think  I  was  not  fit  to 
be  a  wife." 

I  try  to  stay  my  tears  and  to  reply,  "Oh,  Dora, 
love,  as  fit  as  I  to  be  a  husband  !" 

"  I  don't  know,"  with  the  old  shake  of  her  curls. 
"Perhaps  !"  But  if  I  had  been  more  fit  to  be 
married,  I  might  have  made  you  more  so,  too. 
Besides,  you  are  very  clever,  and  I  never  was." 

"  We  have  been  very  happy,  my  sweet  Dora." 

"  I  was  very  happy,  very.  But,  as  years  went  on, 
my  dear  boy  would  have  wearied  of  his  child-wife. 
She  would  have  been  less  and  less  a  companion  for 
him.  He  would  have  been  more  and  more  sensible 
of  what  was  wanting  in  his  home.  She  wouldn't 
have  improved.    It  is  better  as  it  is." 

"  Oh,  Dora,  dearest,  dearest,  do  not  speak  to 
me  so.     Every  word  seems  a  reproach  !" 

"No,  not  a  pliable  !"  she  answers,  kissing  me. 
*'  Oh,  my  dear,  you  never  deserved  it,  and  I  loved 
you  far  too  well  to  say  a  reproachful  word  to  you 
in  earnest — it  was  all  the  merit  I  had  except  being 
l)retty — or  you  thought  me  so.  Is  it  lonely  down 
stairs,  Doady?" 

"Very  !  very  !" 

"  Don't  cry  !    Is  my  chair  there  ? " 

"  In  its  old  place." 

"  Oh,  how  my  poor  boy  cries  !  Hush,  hush  ! 
Now,  make  me  one  promise.  I  want  to  speak  to 
Agnes.  When  you  go  down  stairs  tell  Agnes  so, 
and  send  her  up  to  me  ;  and  while  I  speak  to  her 
let  no  one  come — not  even  aunt.  I  want  to  speak 
to  Agnes  by  herself.  I  want  to  speak  to  Agnes 
^       quite  alone. " 


I  promise  that  she  shall,  immediately;  but  I 
cannot  leave  her,  for  my  grief. 

"I  said  that  it  was  better  as  it  is  !"  she  whispers, 
as  she  holds  me  in  her  arms.  "  Oh,  Doady,  after 
more  years  you  never  could  have  loved  your  child- 
wife  better  than  you  do  ;  and,  after  more  years, 
she  would  so  have  tried  and  disappointed  you,  that 
you  might  not  have  been  able  to  love  her  half  so 
well !  I  know  I  was  too  young  and  foolish.  It  is 
much  better  as  it  is  !" 

Agnes  is  down  stairs  when  I  go  into  the  parlour  ; 
and  I  give  her  the  message.  She  disappears, 
leaving  me  alone  with  Jip. 

His  Chinese  house  is  by  the  fire ;  and  he  lies 
within  it,  on  his  bed  of  flannel,  querulously  trying 
to  sleep.  The  bright  moon  is  high  and  clear.  As 
I  look  out  on  the  night  my  tears  fall  fast,  and  my 
undisciplined  heart  is  chastened  heavily — heavily. 

I  sit  down  by  the  fire,  thinking  with  a  blind 
remorse  of  all  those  secret  feelings  1  have  nourished 
since  my  marriage.  I  think  of  every  little  trifle 
between  me  and  Dora,  and  feel  the  truth,  that 
trifles  make  the  sum  of  life.  Ever  rising  from  the 
sea  of  my  remembrance  is  the  image  of  the  dear 
child  as  I  knew  her  first,  graced  by  my  young  love 
and  by  her  own  with  every  fascination  wherein 
su-ch  love  is  rich.  Would  it,  indeed,  have  been 
better  if  we  had  loved  each  other  as  a  boy  and 
girl  and  forgotten  it  1    Undisciplined  heart,  reply! 

How  the  time  wears  I  know  not ;  until  I  am 
recalled  by  my  child-wife's  old  companion.  More 
restless  than  he  was,  he  crawls  out  of  his  house, 
and  looks  at  me,  and  wanders  to  the  door,  and 
whines  to  go  up  stairs. 

"Not  to-night,  Jip  !    Not  to-night  !" 

He  comes  veiy  slowly  back  to  me,  licks  my  hand 
and  lifts  his  dim  eyes  to  my  face. 

"  Oh,  Jip  !    It  may  be  never  again  !" 

He  lies  down  at  my  feet,  stretches  himself  out 
as  if  to  sleep,  and  with  a  plaintive  cry  is  dead. 

"Oh,  Agnes  !    Look,  look,  here  !" 

— That  face,  so  full  of  pity,  and  of  grief,  that 
rain  of  teai's,  that  awful  mute  appeal  to  me,  that 
solemn  hand  upraised  towards  heaven  I 

"Agnes!" 

It  is  over.  Darkness  comes  before  my  eyes ; 
and,  for  a  time,  all  things  are  blotted  out  of  my 
remembrance. 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


BRET    HARTE    IN    VERSE. 

(^yS)  RET  HARTE,  the  American  humourist,  is  generally  known  to  us  by  bis  intensely  dramatic 
ihpj  prose  sketches,  and  his  ingeniously  satirical  or  political  poem, "  That  Heathen  Chinee."  He 
^•^  has,  however,  at  various  times  written  poems  of  an  intense  and  stirring  dramatic  nature, 
which  are  at  the  same  time  peculiar  from  their  being  given  in  the  rough  dialect  of  the  Far  West. 
For  instance,  we  have  his  rugged  story  of  the  miner,  whom  a  wild  life  had  made  coarse  and  almost 
brutal,  showing  the  tender  side  of  his  wild  nature  as  he  comes  to  a  drinking-shed  in  search  of  his. 
old  companion  "  Jim  "  :- 


Say  there !    Pr'ajis 
Some  on  you  chaps 

Might  know  Jim  Wild  ? 
Well, — no  offence  : 
Thar  ain't  no  sense 

In  gittin'  riled  ! 

Jim  was  my  chum 

Up  on  the  Bar  : 
That's  why  I  come 

Down  from  up  yar, 
Lookin'  for  Jim. 
Thank  ye,  sir  !     Yon 
Ain't  of  that  crew, — 

Blest  if  you  are  ! 

Money  ? — Not  much  : 
That  ain't  my  kind  : 

I  ain't  no  such. 

Rum  ? — I  don't  mind, 

Seein'  it's  you. 

Well,  this  yer  Jim, 
Did  you  know  him  ? 
Jess  'bout  your  size  ; 
Same  kind  of  eyes  ?— 
Well,  that  is  strange  : 
Why,  it's  two  year 
Since  he  came  here. 
Sick,  for  a  change. 

Well,  here's  to  us  : 
Eh? 
you  say  ! 


Dead  ?-- 
That  little  cuss? 

A^Tiat  makes  you  star,— 

You  over  thar  ? 

Can't  a  man  drop 

's  glass  in  yer  shop 

But  you  must  rar  ? 
It  wouldn't  take 
much  to  break 

You  and  your  bar. 

Dead  ! 
Poor — little — Jim  ! 
— Why,  thar  was  me, 
Jones,  and  Bob  Lee, 
Harry  and  Ben, — 
No-account  men  : 
Then  to  take  him  t 

Well,  thar — Good-bve,  - 
No  more,  sir, — I— 

Eh? 
What's  that  you  say  ? — 
Why,  dem  it  !— sho  ! — 
No  !    Yes  !    By  Jo  ! 

Sold! 
Sold  !    Why,  you  limb, 
You  ornery, 

Demed  old 
Long-legged  Jim ! 


Just  such  another  rugged  specimen  of  true  human  nature  done  into  verse  is  the  story  of  the 
hero  who  gave  his  life  to  save  his  partner  in  the  mine  : — 


Didn't  know  Flynn, — 
Flynn,  of  Virginia, — 
Long  as  he's  been  'yar  ? 
Look'ee  here,  stranger, 
Whar  hev  you  been  ? 

Here  in  this  tuimel 
He  was  my  pardner. 

That  same  Tom  Flynn,— 
Working  together. 
In  wind  and  weather. 

Day  out  and  in. 

Didn't  know  Flynn  ! 

Well,  that  is  queer  ; 
Why,  it's  a  sin, — 
To  think  of  Tom  Flynn, - 


Tom  with  his  cheer, 
Tom  without  fear, — 
Stranger,  look  *yar  ! 

Tliar  in  the  drift. 

Back  to  the  wall. 
He  held  the  timbers 

Ready  to  fall ; 

Then  in  the  darkness 
I  heard  him  call  : 

"  Run  for  your  life,  -Take  ! 
Run  for  your  wife's  sake  ! 
Don't  wait  for  me. " 

And  that  was  all 

Heard  in  the  din. 
Heard  of  Tom  Flynn, — 

Flynn  of  Virginia. 


That's  all  about 
Flynn  of  Virginia. 

That  lets  me  out. 
Here  in  the  damp, — 

Out  of  the  sun, — 
That  'ar  demed  lamp 
Makes  my  eyes  run. 

Well,  there, — I'm  done  ! 


But,  sir,  when  you'll 

Hear  the  next  fool 
Asking  of  Flynn, — 

Mynn  of  Virginia,— 
Just  you  chip  in, 
Say  you  knew  Flynn  ; 

Say  that  you've  been  'yar 


« 


BRET  HARTE  IN   VERSE. 


But  Bret  Harte  can  cast  aside  the  stylus  which  marks  so  rovighly  that  it  might  be  the  miner's  crow- 
bar dipped  in  ink,  and  taking  up  the  poet's  pen  write  simply,  fluently,  and  with  rhythmical  measure.  His 
verses  want,  perhaps,  the  rich  imagery  of  the  great  poet,  but  he  has  that  natural  gift  that  enables  him 
to  enlist  the  reader's  sympathy  on  the  instant,  touching  the  tenderest  heart-chords,  yet,  withal,  stirring 
them  so  gently  that  the  touch  is  imperceptible.  Poem  after  poem  might  be  taken  displaying  this  one 
touch  of  nature  that  makes  the  whole  world  kin  ;  but  as  examples  of  his  style  alone  are  needed,  the 
selection  is  first  made  up,  and  that  appeals  right  to  the  heart  of  those  who  have  treasured  children  of 
their  own — tenfold  to  those  who  think  of  "  the  voice  of  the  children  gone  before."  There  is  always  some- 
thing especially  attractive  in  an  old  chronicle  of  some  mishap,  and  Bret  Harte  is  probably  at  his 
best  when  he  tells  in  simple  verses  the  pathetic  Legend  of  Gi'eyport  and  the  children  lost  at  sea  : — 


They  ran  through  the  streets  of  the  seaport  town 
Tiiey  peered  from  the  decks  of  the  ships  that  lay  : 
The  cold  sea-fog  that  came  whitening  down 
Was  never  as  cold  or  white  as  they. 

"  Ho,  Starbuck,  and  Pickney  and  Tenterden  ! 

Run  for  your  shallops,  gather  your  men, 
Scatter  your  boats  on  the  lower  bay." 

Good  cause  for  fear  !     In  the  thick  midday 
The  hulk  that  lay  by  the  rotting  pier, 
Filled  with  the  children  in  happy  play, 
Parted  its  moorings,  and  drifted  clear, — 
Drifted  clear  beyond  reach  or  call, — 
Thirteen  children  they  were  in  all, — 
All  adrift  in  the  lower  bay  ! 

Said  a  hard-faced  skipper,   "  God  heliJ  us  all ! 

She  will  not  flo  it  till  the  turning  tide  !  " 

Said  his  wife,  ' '  My  darling  will  hear  my  call, 

"Whether  in  sea  or  heaven  she  bide  ;  " 

And  she  lifted  a  quavering  voice  and  high. 
Wild  and  strange  as  the  sea-bird's  cry, 
•  Till  they  shuddered  and  wondered  at  lier  side 


The  fog  drove  down  on  each  labouring  crew, 
Veiled  each  from  each  and  the  sky  and  shore  : 
There  was  not  a  sound  but  the  breath  they  di'ew, 
And  the  lap  of  water  and  creak  of  oar ; 

And  they  felt  the  breath  of  the  downs,  fresh  blown 
O'er  leagues  of  clover  and  cold  gray  stone. 
But  not  from  the  lips  that  had  gone  before. 

They  come  no  more.     But  they  tell  the  tale, 
That,  when  fogs  are  thick  on  the  harbour  reef, 
The  mackerel  fishers  shorten  sail ; 
For  the  signal  they  know  will  bring  relief  ; 

For  the  voices  of  children,  still  at  jjlay 

In  a  i)hantom  hulk  that  drifts  alway 
Through  channels  whose  waters  never  fail. 

It  is  but  a  foolish  shipman's  tale, 

A  theme  for  a  j)oet's  idle  page  ; 

But  still,  when  the  mists  of  doubt  prevail, 

And  we  lie  becalmed  by  the  shores  of  Age, 

We  hear  from  the  misty  troubled  shore 

The  voice  of  the  children  gone  before. 
Drawing  the  soul  to  its  anchorage. 


Lastly,  there  is  a  very  short  poem,  so  full  of 
yet  so  full  of  pathos,  that  even  were  its  subject  other 
every  English  breast. 

Above  the  pines  the  moon  was  slowly  drifting,  | 

The  river  sang  below ;  ] 

The  dim  Sierras,  far  beyond,  uplifting 
Their  minarets  of  snow  : 

The  roaring  camp-fire,  with  rude  humour,  painted 

The  ruddy  tints  of  health 
On  haggard  face  and  form  that  drooped  and  fainted 

In  the  fierce  race  for  wealth  ; 

Till  one   .arose,  and  from  his  pack's  scant  treasure 

A  hoarded  volume  drew, 
And  cards  were  dropped  from  hands  of  listless  leisure 

To  hear  the  tale  anew  ; 

And  then,  while  round  them  shadows  gathered  faster, 
And  as  the  firelight  fell, 


simple  inspiration,  so  wildly  picturesque,  and 
than  it  is  Bret  Harte  would  be  stamped  poet  in 


He  read  aloud  the  book  wherein  the  Master 
Had  writ  of  "  Little  Nell." 

Perhaps  'twas  boyish  fancy — for  the  reader 

Was  youngest  of  them  all — 
But,  as  he  read,  from  clustering  pine  and  cedar 

A  silence  seemed  to  fall ; 

The  fir-trees,  gathering  closer  in  the  shadows, 

Listened  in  every  spray, 
While    the  whole    camp,   with    "Nell"    on    English 
meadows 

Wandered  and  lost  their  way. 

And  so  in  mountain  solitudes— o'ertaken 

As  by  some  spell  divine — 
Their  cares  dropped  from  them  like  the  needles  shaken 

From  out  the  gusty  i^ine. 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Lost  is  that  camp,  and  wasted  all  its  fire  ; 

And  he  who  wrought  that  spell  ? — 
Ah,  towering  pine  and  stately  Kentish  spire, 

Ye  have  one  tale  to  tell ! 

Lost  is  that  camp  !  but  let  its  fragrant  story 
Blend  with  the  breath  that  thrills, 


With  hop-vines'  incense  all  the  pensive  glory 
That  fills  the  Kentish  hills. 

Andxjn  that  grave  where  English  oak,  and  holly,. 

And  laurel  wreaths  entwine, 
Deem  it  not  all  a  too  presumptuous  folly — 

This  spray  of  "Western  pine  ! 


DItKE^s's  Grave. 


A    SPOILT    BOY. 

fFrom  "Mr.  Midshipman  Easy."    By  Captain  Maeryat.] 


^ 


'AVE  you  no  idea  of  putting  the  boy 
to  school,  Mrs.  Easyl"  said  Dr. 
^liddleton,  who  had  been  sum- 
moned by  a  groom  with  his  horse  in 
a  foam  to  attend  immediately  at 
Forest  Hill  —  the  name  of  Mr.  Easy's 
mansion— and  who,  upon  his  arrival,  had 
found  that  Master  Easy  had  cut  his  thumb. 
One  would  have  thought  that  he  had  cut  his  head 
off  by  the  agitation  pervading  the  whole  household 
— Mr.  Easy  walking  up  and  down  very  uneasy, 
Mrs.  Easy  with  great  difficulty  prevented  from 
syncope,  and  all  the  maids  bustling  and  passing 
round  Mrs.  Eas/s  chair.  Everybody  appeared 
excited  except  Master  Jack  Easy  himself,  who, 
with  a  rag  round  his  finger,  and  his  pinafore 
spotted  with  blood,  was  playing  at  bob-cherry, 
and  cared  nothing  about  the  matter. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter,  my  little  man  1 "  said 
Dr.  Middleton,  on  entering,  addressing  himself  to 
Jack,  as  the  most  sensible  of  the  whole  party. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Middleton,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Easy, 
"  he  has  cut  his  hand  !    I  am  sure  that  a  nerve  is 

divided,  and  then  the  lockjaw " 

The  doctor  made  no  reply,  but  examined  the 
finger;  Jack  Easy  continued  to  play  bob-cherry 
with  his  right  hand. 

"  Have  you  such  a  thing  as  a  piece  of  sticking- 
plaster  in  the  house,  madam?"  observed  the  doctor, 
after  examination. 

"  Oh  yes  !— run  Mary — run  Sarah  !  In  a  few 
seconds  the  maids  appeared,  Sarah  bringing  the 


sticking-plaster,  and  Mary  following  with  the 
scissors. 

"Make  yourself  quite  easy,  madam,"  said  Dr. 
Middleton,  after  he  put  on  the  plaster.  "  I  will 
answer  for  no  evil  consequences." 

"  Had  I  not  better  take  him  upstairs,  and  let 
him  lie  down  a  little  1"  replied  Mrs.  Easy,  slipping 
a  guinea  into  the  doctor's  hand. 

"It  is  not  absolutely  requisite,  madam,"  said 
the  doctor  ;  "  but  at  all  events  he  will  be  kept  out 
of  more  mischief." 

"  Come,  my  dear,  you  hear  what  Dr.  Middleton 
says." 

"  Yes,  I  heard,"  replied  Jack ;  "  but  I  shan't 
go." 

"  My  dear  Johnny — come,  love — now  do,  my 
dear  Johnny." 

Johnny  played  bob-cherry,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Come,  Master  Johnny,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Go  away,  Sarah,"  said  Johnny,  with  a  back- 
hander. 

"  Oh  !  fie,  Master  Johnny,"  said  Mary. 

"  Johnny,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Easy,  in  a  coaxing 
tone,  "  come  now — will  you  go  V 

"I'll  go  in  the  garden,  and  get  some  more 
cherries,"  replied  Master  Johnny. 

"  Come,  then,  love,  we  will  go  into  the  garden." 

Master  Johnny  jumped  off  his  chair,  and  took 
his  mamma  by  the  hand. 

"What  a  dear,  good,  obedient  child  it  is !"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Easy  :  "  You  may  lead  him  with  a 
thread." 


A    SPOILT    BOY. 


"  Yes,  to  pick  cherries,"  thought  Dr.  Middleton. 

Mr.  Easy  announced  to  his  wife,  when  they  met 
that  day  at  tea-time,  his  intentions  with  regard  to 
his  son  John. 

*'  To  school,  Mr.  Easy  1  what,  send  Johnny  to 
school !  a  mere  infant  to  school  !" 

"Surely,  my  dear,  you  must  be  aware 
that  at  nine  years  it  is  high  time  that  he 
learnt  to  read." 

"Why,  he  almost  reads  already,  Mr. 
Easy  ;  surely  I  can  teach  him  that.  Does 
he  not,  Sarah  ]" 

"  Lord  bless  him,  yes,  ma'am ;  he  was 
saying  his  letters  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Easy,  what  can  have  put  this 
in  your  head  1  Johnny,  dear,  come  here — 
tell  me  now  what's  the  letter  A]  You 
were  singing  it  in  the  garden  this  morn- 
ing." 

"I  want  some  sugar,"  replied  Johnny, 
stretching  his  arm  over  the  table  to  the 
sugar-basin,  which  was  out  of  his 
reach. 

"  Well,  my  love,  you  shall  have  a  great 
lump  if  you  will  tell  me  what's  the  letter 
A." 

"  A  was  an  archer,  and  shot  at  a  frog," 
replied  Johnny  in  a  surly  tone. 

"  There  now,  Mr.  Easy  ;  and  he  can  go  through 
the  whole  alphabet — can't  he,  Sarah  f 

"  That  he  can,  the  dear — can't  you,  Johnny  dear  f 

"  No,"  replied  Johnny. 

"  Yes,  you  can,  my  love,  you  know  what's  the 
letter  B.    Now  don't  you  "i" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Johnny. 

"There,  Mr.  Easy,  you  see  what  the  boy  knows, 
and  how  obedient  ho  is  too.  Come,  Johnny,  dear, 
tell  us  what  was  B." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  replied  Johnny.  "  I  want  some 
more  sugar  ;"  and  Johnny,  who  had  climbed  on  a 
chair,  spread  himself  over  the  table  to  reach  it. 

"  Mercy  !  Sarah,  pull  him  off— he'll  upset  the 
urn,"  screamed  Mrs.  Easy.  Sarah  caught  hold  of 
Johnny  by  the  loins  to  pull  back,  but  Johnny, 
resisting  the  interference,  turned  round  on  his 
back  as  he  lay  on  the  table,  and  kicked  Sarah  in 
the  face,  just  as  she  made  another  desperate  grasp 
at  him.  The  rebound  from  the  kick,  given  as  he 
lay  on  a  smooth  mahogany  table,  brought  Johnny's 
head  in  contact  with  the  urn,  which  was  upset  in 
the  opposite  direction,  and,  notwithstanding  a 
rapid  movement  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Easy,  he 
received  a  sufficient  portion  of  boihng  liquid  on 
his  legs  to  scald  him  severely,  and  induce  him  to 
stamp  and  swear  in  a  very  unphilosophical  way.  In 
the  meantime  Sarah  and  Mrs.  Easy  had  caught  up 
Johnny,  and  were  both  holding  him  at  the  same 
time,  exclaiming  and  lamenting.    The  pain  of  the 


scald,  and  the  indifference  shown  towards  him, 
were  too  much  for  Mr.  Easy's  temper  to  put  up 
with.  He  snatched  Johnny  out  of  their  arms, 
and,  quite  forgetting  his  equality  and  rights  of 
man,  belaboured  him  without  mercy.  Sarah  flew 
in  to  interfere,  and  received  a  blow  which  not 
only  made  her  see  a  thousand  stars,  but  sent  her 


The  Urn  upset. 


reeling  on  the  floor.  Mrs.  Easy  went  off  into* 
hysterics,  and  Johnny  howled  so  as  to  be  heard 
at  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

How  long  Mr.  Easy  would  have  continued  it  is 
impossible  to  say ;  but  the  door  opened,  and  Mr. 
Easy  looked    up  while    still    administering   the 
punishment,  and  perceived  Dr.  Middleton  in  mute 
astonishment.    He  had  promised  to  come  in  to  tea, 
and  enforce  Mr.  Easy's  arguments,  if  it  were  neces- 
sary ;  but  it  certainly  appeared  to  him,  that  in  the 
i  argument  which  Mr.  Easy  was  then  enforcing,  he 
I  required  no  assistance.     However,  at  the  entrance 
i  of  Dr.  Middleton,  Johnny  was  dropped,  and  lay 
j  roaring  on  the  floor ;  Sarah  too  remained  where 
I  she  had  been  floored.    Mrs.  Easy  had  rolled  on 
the  floor,  the  urn  was  also  on  the  floor,  and  Mr. 
Easy,  although  not  floored,  had  not  a  leg  to  stand 
upon. 

Never  did  a  medical  man  look  in  more  oppor- 
tunely. Mr.  Easy  at  first  was  not  certainly  of  that 
opinion,  but  his  legs  becajne  so  painful  that  he 
soon  became  a  convert. 

Dr.  Middleton,*as  in  duty  bound,  first  picked 
up  Mrs.  Easy,  and  laid  her  on  the  sofa.  Sarah 
rose,  picked  up  Johnny,  and  carried  him  kicking 
and  roaring  out  of  the  room  ;  in  return  for  which 
attention  she  received  sundry  bites.  The  foot- 
man, who  had  announced  the  doctor,  picked  up 
the  urn,  that  being  all  there  was  in  his  department. 
Mr.  Easy  threw  himself  panting  and  in  agony  on 


TO 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


the  other  sofa,  and  Dr.  ]Middleton  was  excessively 
embarrassed  how  to  act;  he  perceived  that  Mr. 
Easy  required  his  assistance,  and  that  Mrs.  Easy 
could  do  without  it ;  but  how  to  leave  a  lady  who 
was  half  really  and  half  pretendedly  in  hysterics, 
was  difficult ;  for  if  he  attempted  to  leave  her  she 
kicked  and  flounced,  and  burst  out  the  more.  At 
last  Dr.  Middleton  rang  the  bell,  which  brought 
•the  footman,  who  summoned  all  the  maids,  who 
carried  Mrs.  Easy  up-stairs,  and  then  the  doctor 
was  able  to  attend  to  the  only  patient  who  really 
required  his  assistance.  Mr.  Easy  explained  the 
affair  in  few  words,  broken  into  ejaculations  from 
pain,  as  the  doctor  removed  his  stockings.  From 
the  applications  of  Dr.  Middleton,  Mr.  Easy  soon 
obtained  bodily  relief ;  but  what  annoyed  him  still 
more  than  his  scalded  legs,  was  the  doctor  having 
been  a  witness  to  his  infringement  of  the  equality 
and  rights  of  man.  Dr.  Middleton  perceived  this, 
and  he  knew  also  how  to  pour  balm  into  that 
wound, 

"My  dear  Mr.  Easy,  I  am  very  sorry  that  you 
have  had  this  accident,  for  which  you  are  indebted 
to  Mrs.  Easy's  foolish  indulgence  of  the  boy,  but  I 
am  glad  to  perceive  that  you  have  taken  up  those 
parental  duties  which  are  inculcated  by  the  Scrip- 
turea  Solomon  says,  '  that  he  who  spares  the 
rod,  spoils  the  child,'  thereby  implying  that  it  is 
the  duty  of  a  father  to  correct  his  children." 
•  ****# 

"  That  is  exactly  my  opinion,"  replied  Mr.  Easy, 
comforted  at  the  doctor  having  so  logically  got 
him  out  of  the  scrape.  "  But— he  shall  go  to  school 
to-morrow,  that  I'm  determined  on." 

"  He  will  have  to  thank  Mrs.  Easy  for  that," 
replied  the  doctor. " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Mr.  Easy,  "  Doctor,  my  legs 
are  getting  very  hot  again." 

"  Continue  to  bathe  them  with  the  vinegar  and 
water,  Mr.  Easy,  until  I  send  you  an  embro- 
cation, which  Will  give  you  immediate  relief.  I 
will  call  to-morrow.  By-the-bye,  I  am  to  see 
a  little  patient  at  Mr.  Bonnycastle's ;  if  it  is 
any  accommodation,  I  will  take  your  son  with 
me." 

''  It  will  be  a  great  accommodation,  doctor,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Easy. 

"  Then,  my  dear  sir,  I  will  just  go  up  and  see 
how  Mrs.  Easy  is,  and  to-morrow  I  will  call  at  ten. 
I  can  wait  an  hour.     Good-night." 

"Good-night,  doctor." 

The  doctor  had  his  game  to  play  with  Mrs.  Easy. 
He  magnified  her  husband's  accident — he  magni- 
fied his  wrath,  and  advised  her  by  no  means  to 
say  one  word  until  he  was  well,  and  more  pacified. 
The  next  day  he  repeated  this  dose,  and,  in  spite 
of  the  ejaculations  of  Sarah,  and  the  tears  of  Mrs. 
Easy,  who  dared  not  venture  to  plead  her  cause, 
and  the  violent  resistance  of  Master  Johnny,  who 


appeared  to  have  a  presentiment  of  what  was  to 
come,  our  hero  was  put  into  Dr.  Middleton's 
chariot,  and  with  the  excei)tion  of  one  plate  of 
glass  which  he  kicked  out  of  the  window  with  his 
feet,  and  for  which  feat  the  doctor,  now  that  he 
had  him  all  to  himself,  boxed  his  ears  till  he  was 
nearly  blind,  he  was,  without  any  further  eventful 
occurrence,  carried  by  the  doctor's  footman  into 
the  parlour  of  Mr.  Bonnycastle. 

Master  Jack  had  been  plumped  down  in  a  chair 
by  the  doctor's  servant,  who,  as  he  quitted  him, 
first  looked  at  his  own  hands,  from  which  the 
blood  was  drawn  in  several  parts,  and  then  at 
Master  Jack,  with  his  teeth  closed  and  lips  com- 
pressed, as  much  as  to  say,  "If  I  only  dared,  would 
not  I,  that's  all  1 "  and  then  walked  out  of  the  room, 
repaired  to  the  carriage  at  the  front  door,  when  he 
showed  his  hands  to  the  coachman,  who  looked 
down  from  his  box  in  great  commiseration,  at  the 
same  time  fully  sharing  his  fellow-servant's  indig- 
nation. But  we  must  repair  to  the  parlour.  Dr. 
Middleton  ran  over  a  newspaper,  while  Johnny 
sat  on  the  chair  all  of  a  heap,  looking  like  a  lumj* 
of  sulks,  with  his  feet  on  the  upper  front  bar,  and 
his  knees  almost  up  to  his  nose.  He  was  a 
promising  pupil,  Jack. 

;Mr.  Bonnycastle  made  his  appearance — a  tall, 
well-built,  handsome  fair  man,  with  a  fine 
powdered  head,  dressed  in  solemn  black,  and 
knee-buckles ;  his  linen  beautifully  clean,  and 
with  a  peculiar  bland  expression  of  countenance. 
****** 

Dr.  Middleton,  who  was  on  intimate  terms  Avith 
Bonnycastle,  rose  as  he  entered  the  room,  and  they 
shook  hands.  Middleton  then  turned  to  where 
Jack  sat,  and  pointing  to  him,  said,  "  Look  there." 

Bonnycastle  smiled.  "  I  cannot  say  that  I  have 
had  worse,  but  I  have  almost  as  bad.  I  will 
apply  the  Promethean  torch,  and  soon  vivify  that 
rude  mass.     Come,  sit  down,  Middleton." 

"But,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  resumed  his  chair, 
"tell  me,  Bonnycastle,  how  you  will  possibly 
manage  to  lick  such  a  cub  into  shape,  when  yor. 
do  not  resort  to  flogging  1 " 

"I  have  no  opinion  of  flogging,  and  therefore  I 
do  not  resort  to  it.  The  fact  is,  I  was  at  Harrow 
myself,  and  was  rather  a  pickle.  I  was  called  up 
as  often  as  most  boys  in  the  school,  and  I  perfectly 
recollect,  that  eventually  I  cared  nothing  for  a 
flogging." 

"I  should  have  thought  otherwise." 

"  My  dear  Middleton,  I  can  produce  more  effect 
by  one  caning  than  twenty  floggings. 

****** 

"My  dear  sir,  I  really  had  an  idea  that  you  were 
excessively  lenient,"  replied  Middleton,  laughing  ; 
"  I  am  glad  that  I  am  under  a  mistake." 

"  Look  at  that  cub,  doctor,  sitting  there  more 
like  a  brute  than  a  reasonable  being;  do  you 


A    SPOILT    BOY. 


n 


imagine  that  I  could  ever  lick  it  into  shape  with- 
out strong  measures  ] " 

###### 

Dr.  Middleton  wished  Jack  good-bye,  and  told 
him  to  be  a  good  boy.  Jack  did  not  vouchsafe  to 
answer.  "  Never  mind,  doctor ;  he  will  be  more 
polished  next  time  you  call  here,  depend  upon  it." 
And  the  doctor  departed. 

Although  Mr.  Bonnycastle  was  severe,  he  was 
very  judicious.  Mischief  of  all  kinds  was  visited 
but  by  slender  punishment,  such  as  being  kept  in 
at  play  hours,  &c.  ;  and  he  seldom  interfered 
with  the  boys  for  fighting,  although  he  checked 
decided  oppression.  The  great  sine  quA  non  with 
him  was  attention  to  their  studies.  He  soon 
discovered  the  capabilities  of  his  pupils,  and 
he  forced  them  accordingly ;  but  the  idle 
boy,  the  bird  who  "  could  sing  and  wouldn't 
sing,"  received  no  mercy.  The  consequence 
was,  that  he  turned  out  the  cleverest  boys, 
and  his  conduct  was  so  uniform  and  un- 
varying in  its  tenor,  that  if  he  was  feared 
when  they  were  under  his  control,  he  was 
invariably  liked  by  those  whom  he  had 
instructed,  and  they  continued  his  friends 
in  after  life. 

Mr.  Bonnycastle  at  once  perceived  that 
it  was  no  use  coaxing  our  hero,  and  that 
fear  was  the  only  attribute  by  which  he 
could  be  controlled.  So,  as  soon  as  Dr. 
Middleton  had  quitted  the  room,  he  ad- 
dressed him  in  a  commanding  tone,  "  Now, 
boy,  what  is  your  name  ]  " 

Jack  started ;  he  looked  up  at  his  master, 
perceived  his  eye  fixed  upon  him,  and  a 
countenance  not  to  be  played  with.     Jack 
was  no  fool,  and  somehow  or  other,  the 
discipline  he  had  received  from  his  father 
had  given  him  some  intimation  of  what  was  to 
come.    All  this  put  together,  induced  Jack  to  con- 
descend to  answer,  with  his  fore-finger  between 
his  teeth,  "Johnny," 

"  And  what  is  your  other  name,  sir  ? " 

Jack,  who  appeared  to  repent  his  condescension, 
did  not  at  first  answer ;  but  he  looked  again  in  Mr. 
Bonnycastle's  face,  and  then  round  the  room ; 
there  was  no  one  to  help  him,  and  he  could  not 
help  himself,  so  he  replied,  "  Easy," 

"  Do  you  know  why  you  are  sent  to  school  ? " 

"Scalding  father." 

"  No ;  you  are  sent  to  learn  to  read  and 
write." 

"But  I  won't  read  and  write,"  replied  Jack, 
sulkily. 

"  Yes,  you  will  ;  and  you  are  going  to  read  your 
letters  now  directly." 

Jack  made  no  answer.  Mr.  Bonnycastle  opened 
a  sort  of  book-case,  and  displayed  to  John's 
astonished  view  a  series  of  canes,  ranged  up  and 


down  like  billiard  cues,  and  continued,  "  Do  you 
know  what  those  are  for  1 " 

Jack  eyed  them  wistfully;  he  had  some  faint 
idea  that  he  was  sure  to  be  better  acquainted  with 
them,  but  he  made  no  answer. 

"They  are  to  teach  little  boys  to  read  and  write, 
and  now  I  am  going  to  teach  you.  You'll  soon 
learn.  Look  now  here,"  continued  Mr.  Bonny- 
castle, opening  a  book  with  large  type,  and  taking 
a  capital  at  the  head  of  a  chapter,  about  half  an 
inch  long.    "  Do  you  see  that  letter  1 " 

"Yes,"  replied  Johnny,  turning  his  eyes  away, 
and  picking  his  fingers. 

"Well,  that  is  the  letter  B.    Do  you  see  it] 


Me.  Bonnycastle  and  Jack. 

Look  at  it  so  that  you  may  know  it  again.  That's 
the  letter  B,    Now  tell  me  what  letter  that  is  ] " 

Jack  now  determined  to  resist,  so  he  made  no 
answer, 

"  So  you  cannot  tell ;  well,  then,  we  will  try 
what  one  of  these  little  fellows  will  do,"  said  Mr. 
Bonnycastle,  taking  down  a  cane. 

"  Observe,  Johnny,  that's  the  letter  B.  Now, 
what  letter  is  that  1  Answer  me  directly." 

"  I  won't  learn  to  read  and  write." 

Whack  came  the  cane  on  Johnny's  shoulders, 
who  burst  out  into  a  ■  roar  as  he  writhed  with 
pain. 

Mr.  Bonnycastle  waited  a  few  seconds.  "That's 
the  letter  B.  Now  tell  me,  sir,  directly,  what  that 
letter  is?" 

"  I'll  tell  my  mar."  Whack  !   "  0  law  !  O  law  !" 

"What  letter's  that?" 

Johnny,  with  his  mouth  open,  panting,  and  the 
tears  on  his  ch  eks,  answered  indignantly  :  "  Stop 
till  I  teU  Sarah." 


12 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


Whack  came  the  cane  again,  and  a  fresh  burst 
from  Johnny. 

"  What  letter's  that  ] " 

"  I  won't  tell,"  roared  Jolinny  ;  "  I  won't  tell — 
that  I  wont." 

Whack — whack — whack,  and  a  pause.  "  I  told 
you  before,  that's  the  letter  B.  What  letter  is 
that  1  Tell  me  directly." 

Johnny,  by  way  of  reply,  made  a  snatch  at  the 
cane.  Whack !  he  caught  it  certainly  ;  but  not 
exactly  as  he  would  have  wished.  Johnny  then 
snatched  up  the  book,  and  dashed  it  to  the  corner 
of  the  room.  Whack,  whack  !  Johnny  attempted 
to  seize  Mr.  Bonnycastle  with  his  teeth.  Whack, 
whack,  whack,  whack  !  and  Johnny  fell  on  the 
carpet,  and  roared  with  pain.  Mr.  Bonnycastle 
then  left  him  for  a  little  while,  to  recover  himself, 
and  sat  down. 

At  last  Johnny's  exclamations  settled  down  in 
deep  sobs,  and  then  Mr.  Bonnycastle  said  to  him, 
"  Now,  Johnny,  you  perceive  that  you  must  do  as 
you  are  bid,  or  else  you  will  have  more  beating. 
Get  up  immediately.    Do  you  hear,  sir]" 


Somehow  or  other,  Johnny,  without  intending 
it,  stood  upon  his  feet. 

"That's  a  good  boy  ;  now  you  see,  by  getting  up 
as  you  were  bid,  you  have  not  been  beaten.  Now, 
Johnny,  you  must  go  and  bring  the  book  from 
where  you  threw  it  down.  Do  you  hear,  sir  l 
bring  it  directly  ! " 

Johnny  looked  at  Mr.  Bonnycastle  and  the 
cane.  With  every  intention  to  refuse,  Johnny 
picked  up  the  book  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

"  That's  a  good  boy  ;  now  we  will  find  the  letter 
B.  Here  it  is  :  now,  Johnny,  tell  me  what  that 
letter  is  ? " 

Johnny  made  no  answer. 

"Tell  me  directly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bonnycastle, 
raising  his  cane  up  in  the  air.  The  appeal  was 
too  powerful  Johnny  eyed  the  cane ;  it  moved, 
it  was  coming.  Breathlessly  he  shrieked  out, 
"B  !" 

"Very  well  indeed,  Johnny — very  Avell.  Now 
your  first  lesson  is  over,  and  you  sliall  go  to  bed. 
You  have  learnt  more  than  you  think  for.  To- 
morrow we  will  begin  again." 


PAUL    REVEEE'S    EIDE. 


[Longfellow  ] 


ISTEN,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 
Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere, 
On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy- 
five  ; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  aKve 
Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 
He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 


Of  the  North  Church  tower  as  a  signal  light,— 
One  if  by  land,  and  two  if  by  sea  ; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm. 
For  the  country-folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 
Then  he  said,  "  Good  night ! "  and  with  muffled 

oar 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay. 
Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 
The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war ; 
A  phantom-ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 
Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar, 
And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 
By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 
Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street, 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears. 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack-door. 
The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  tread  of  the  grenadiers. 
Marching  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 
Then  he  climbed  to  the  tower  of  the  church, 
Up  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 
To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead, 
And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 


PAUL   REVERE'S    RIDE. 


13 


Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade, — 
Up  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall, 
To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall, 
Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town, 
And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 
Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead, 
In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill, 
Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 
That  he  could  hear,  Hke  a  sentinel's  tread, 
The  watchful  night-wind,  as  it  went 


Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then,  impetuous  stamped  the  earth, 
And  turned  and  tightened  the  saddle-girth  ; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry  tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill, 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 


"He  paused  to  listen."    {Drawn  by  G.  C.  Hindley.) 


Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent. 

And  seeming  to  whisper,  "All  is  well !" 

A  moment  only  he  feels  the  spell 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead  ; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  were  bent 

On  a  shadowy  something  far  away, 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay, — 

A  line  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 

Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride, 

On  the  opposite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 

Now  he  patted  his  horse's  side, 


A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns ! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark. 

And  beneath  from  the  pebbles,  in  passing,  a 

spark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet ; 
That  was  all  !    And  yet  through  the  gloom  and 

the  light. 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed  in  his 

flight 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 
He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep. 
And  beneath  him,  ti-anquil  and  broad  and  deep, 


14 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides  ; 
And  under  the  alders,  that  skirt  its  edge, 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge, 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 
It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock, 
When    he    crossed    the    bridge   into    Medford 

town. 
He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 
And  the  barking  of  the  farmer's  dog, 
And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog, 
That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 
It  was  one  by  the  village  clock 
When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 
He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 
Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  pjissed. 
And  the  meeting-house   windows,  blank    and 

bare, 
Gaze  at  him  with  a  spectral  glare, 
As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 
At  the  bloody  work  they  would  look  upon. 
It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 
When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  towri, 
He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 
And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees, 
And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 
Blowing  ovjr  the  meadows  brown. 


And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 
Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 
Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead, 
Pierced  by  a  British  musket-balL 

You  know  the  rest.     In  the  books  you  have- 
read, 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled, — 
How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 
From  behind  each  fence  and  farm-yai'd  wall. 
Chasing  the  red -coats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road. 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 
So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere  : 
And  so  through  the  night  went  his  cry  of  alarnx 
To  every  ^Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 
A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 
And  a  word  that  shall  echo  for  evermore  ! 
For  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 
Through  all  our  history,  to  the  last, 
In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need. 
The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 
The  hurrying  hoof -beats  of  that  steed, 
And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 


A    HIGHLAND    FEUD. 

LProm  "  The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth."     By  Sir  Walter  Scott.J 


:OTH  parties  were  disposed  by  the  re- 
spective Chiefs  in  three  lines,  each 
=Sj  containing  ten  men.  They  were  ar- 
ranged with  such  intervals  between 
each  individual,  as  offered  him  scope  to 
wield  his  sword,  the  blade  of  which  was 
five  feet  long,  not  including  the  handle. 
The  second  and  third  lines  were  to  come 
up  as  reserves,  in  case  the  first  experienced 
disaster.  On  the  right  of  the  array  of  Clan 
Quhele,  the  Chief,  Eachin  Maclan,  placed  him- 
self in  the  second  line  betwixt  two  of  his  foster- 
brothers.  Four  of  them  occupied  the  right  of  the 
first  line,  whilst  the  father  and  two  others  protected 
the  rear  of  the  beloved  chieftain.  Torquil,  in 
particular,  kept  close  behind,  for  the  purpose  of 
covering  him.  Thus  Eachin  stood  in  the  centie  of 
nine  of  the  strongest  men  of  his  band,  having  four 
especial  defenders  in  front,  one  on  each  hand,  and 
three  in  his  rear. 

The  line  of  the  Clan  Chattan  was  arranged  in 
precisely  the  same  order,  only  that  the  Chief  occu- 
pied the  centre  of  the  middle  rank,  instead  of  being 
on  the  extreme  right.  This  induced  Henry  Smith, 
who  saw  in  the  opposing  bands  only  one  enemy, 


and  that  was  the  unhappy  Eachin,  to  propose- 
placing  himself  on  the  left  of  the  front  rank  of  the 
Clan  Chattan.  But  the  leader  disapproved  of  this- 
arrangement ;  and  having  reminded  Henry  that  he 
owed  him  obedience,  as  having  taken  wages  at  his 
hand,  he  commanded  him  to  occupy  the  space  in 
the  third  line,  immediately  behind  himself — a  post 
of  honour,  certainly,  which  Henry  could  not  de- 
cline, though  he  accepted  of  it  with  reluctance. 

When  the  clans  were  thus  drawn  up  opposed  to 
each  other,  they  intimated  their  feudal  animosity, 
and  their  eagerness  to  engage,  by  a  wild  scream,  ^ 
which,  uttered  by  the  Clan  Quhele,  was  answered 
and  echoed  back  by  the  Clan  Chattan,  the  whole  at 
the  same  time  shaking  their  swords,  and  menacing 
each  other  as  if  they  meant  to  conquer  the  imagi- 
nation of  their  opponents  ere  they  mingled  in  the 
actual  strife. 


The  trumpets  of  the  King  sounded  a  charge,  the 
bagpipes  blew  up  their  screaming  and  maddening 
notes,  and  the  combatants,  starting  forward  in 
regular  order,  and  increasing  their  pace  till  they 
came  to  a  smart  run,  met  together  in  the  centre  o£ 


A   HIGHLAND   FEUD. 


15 


the  ground,  as  a  furious  land  torrent  encounters  an 
advancing  tide. 

For  an  instant  or  two  the  front  lines,  hewing  at 
each  other  with  their  long  swords,  seemed  engaged 
in  a  succession  of  single  combats  ;  but  the  second 
and  third  ranks  soon  came  up  on  either  side, 
actuated  alike  by  the  eagerness  of  hatred  and  the 
thirst  of  honour,  pressed  through  the  intervals,  and 
rendered  the  scene  a  tumultuous  chaos,  over  which 
the  huge  swords  rose  and  sank,  some  still  glittering, 
others  streaming  with  blood,  appearing,  from  the 
wild  rapidity  with  which  they  were  swayed,  rather 
to  be  put  in  motion  by  some  complicated  machinery 
than  to  be  wielded  by  human  hands.  Some  of  the 
•combatants,  too  much  crowded  together  to  use 
those  long  weapons,  had  already  betaken  themselves 
to  their  poniards,  and  endeavoured  to  get  within 
the  sword-sweep  of  those  opposed  to  them.  In  the 
meantime,  blood  flowed  fast,  and  the  groans  of 
those  who  fell  began  to  mingle  with  the  cries  of 
those  who  fought ;  for,  according  to  the  manner  of 
the  Highlanders  at  all  times,  they  could  hardly  be 
said  to  shout,  but  to  yell.  Those  of  the  spectators 
whose  eyes  were  best  accustomed  to  such  scenes  of 
blood  and  confusion,  could  nevertheless  discover 
no  advantage  yet  acquired  by  either  party.  The 
conflict  swayed,  indeed,  at  different  intervals  for- 
wards or  backwards ;  but  it  was  only  in  momentary 
superiority,  which  the  party  who  acquired  it  almost 
instantly  lost  by  a  corresponding  exertion  on  the 
other  side.  The  wild  notes  of  the  pipers  were  still 
heard  above  the  tumult,  and  stimulated  to  farther 
exertions  the  fury  of  the  combatants. 

At  once,  however,  and  as  if  by  mutual  agree- 
ment, the  instruments  sounded  a  retreat  ;  it  was 
expressed  in  wailing  notes,  which  seemed  to  imply 
a  dirge  for  the  fallen.  The  two  parties  disengaged 
themselves  from  each  other,  to  take  breath  for  a 
few  minutes.  The  eyes  of  the  spectators  greedily 
surveyed  the  shattered  array  of  the  combatants  as 
they  drew  off  from  the  contest,  but  found  it  still 
impossible  to  decide  which  had  sustained  the  greater 
loss.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Clan  Chattan  had  lost 
rather  fewer  than  their  antagonists ;  but  in  com- 
pensation, the  bloody  plaids  and  shirts  of  their 
party  (for  several  on  both  sides  had  thrown  their 
mantles  away)  showed  more  wounded  men  than  the 
Clan  Quhele.  About  twenty  of  both  sides  lay  on 
the  field  dead  or  dying ;  and  arms  and  legs  lopped 
■off,  heads  cleft  to  the  chin,  slashes  deep  through 
the  shoulder  into  the  breast,  showed  at  once  the 
fury  of  the  combat,  the  ghastly  character  of  the 
weapons  used,  and  the  fatal  strength  of  the  arms 
which  wielded  them. 

****** 

The  two  Chiefs,  after  allowing  their  followers  to 
breathe  for  the  space  of  about  ten  minutes,  again 
•drew  up  in  their  files,  diminished  by  nearly  one- 
third  of  their  original  number.     They  now  chose 


their  ground  nearer  to  the  river  than  that  on  which 
they  had  formerly  encountered,  which  was  encum- 
bered with  the  wounded  and  the  slain.  Some  of 
the  former  were  observed,  from  time  to  time,  to 
raise  themselves  to  gain  a  glimpse  of  the  field,  and 
sink  back,  most  of  them  to  die  from  the  effusion 
of  blood  which  poured  from  the  terrific  gashes  in- 
flicted by  the  claymore. 

Harry  Smith  was  easily  distinguished  by  his 
Lowland  habit,  as  well  as  his  remaining  on  the 
spot  where  they  had  first  encountered,  where  he 
stood  leaning  on  a  sword  beside  a  corpse,  whose 
bonneted  head,  carried  to  ten  yards"  distance  from 
the  body  by  the  force  of  the  blow  which  had 
swept  it  off,  exhibited  the  oak-leaf,  the  appropriate 
ornament  of  the  body-guard  of  Eachin  ^Maclan. 
Since  he  slew  this  man,  Henry  had  not  struck  a 
blow,  but  had  contented  himself  with  warding  oft' 
many  that  were  dealt  at  himself,  and  some  which 
were  aimed  at  the  Chief.  MacGillie  Chattanach 
became  alarmed,  when,  having  given  the  signal 
that  his  men  should  again  draw  together,  he  ob- 
served that  his  powerful  recruit  remained  at  a 
distance  from  the  ranks,  and  showed  little  disposi- 
tion to  join  them. 

"  What  ails  thee,  man  1 "  said  the  Chief.  "  Can 
so  strong  a  body  have  a  mean  and  cowardly  spirit  t 
Come  and  make  in  to  the  combat !  " 

"  You  as  good  as  called  me  hireling  but  now," 
replied  Harry;  "if  I  am  such,"  pointing  to  the 
headless  corpse,  "I  have  done  enough  for  my  day's 
wage." 

"  He  that  serves  me  without  counting  his  hours," 
replied  the  Chief,  "  I  reward  him  without  reckon- 
ing wages." 

"  Then,"  said  the  Smith,  "  I  fight  as  a  volunteer, 
and  in  the  jiost  which  best  likes  me." 

"All  that  is  at  your  own  discretion,"  replied 
MacGillie  Chattanach,  who  saw  the  prudence  of 
humouring  an  aiixiliary  of  such  promise. 

"  It  is  enough,"  said  Henry ;  and  shouldering 
his  heavy  weapon,  he  joined  the  rest  of  the  com- 
batants with  alacrity,  and  placed  himself  opposite 
to  the  Chief  of  the  Clan  Quhele. 

It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  that  Eachin 
showed  some  uncertainty.  He  had  long  looked  up 
to  Henry  as  the  best  combatant  which  Perth  and 
its  neighbourhood  could  bring  into  the  lists.  His 
hatred  to  him  as  a  rival  was  mingled  with  recol- 
lection of  the  ease  with  which  he  had  once,  though 
unarmed,  foiled  his  own  sudden  and  desperate 
attack ;  and  when  he  beheld  him  with  his  eyes 
fixed  in  his  direction,  the  dripping  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  obviously  meditating  an  attack  on 
him  individually,  his  courage  fell,  and  he  gave 
symptoms  of  wavering,  which  did  not  escape  his 
foster-father. 

It  was  lucky  for  Eachin  that  Torquil  was  in- 
capable, from  the  formation  of  his  own  temper, 


16 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


and  that  of  those  with  whom  he  had  lived,  to  con- 
ceive the  idea  of  one  of  his  own  tribe,  much  less 
of  his  Chief  and  foster-son,  being  deficient  in 
animal  courage.  That  he  was  under  the  influence 
of  enchantment  was  a  solution  which  superstition 
had  suggested,  and  he  now  anxiously,  but  in  a 
\^-hisper,  demanded  of  Hector,  "Does  the  spell 
now  darken  thy  spirit,  Eachin  ]  " 

"  Yes,  wretch  that  I  am,"  answered  the  unhappy 
youth  ;  "  and  yonder  stands  the  fell  enchanter ! " 

"  What ' "  exclaimed  Torquil,  "  and  you  wear 


other's  valour.  Henry  Wynd,  in  his  impatience  to 
begin  the  contest,  advanced  before  the  Clan  Chattan, 
and  signed  to  Eachin  to  come  on.  Norman,  how- 
ever, sprang  forward  to  cover  his  foster-brother, 
and  there  was  a  general,  though  momentary  pause, 
as  if  both  parties  were  willing  to  obtain  an  omen 
of  the  fate  of  the  day,  from  the  event  of  this  duel. 
The  Highlander  advanced,  with  his  large  sword 
uplifted,  as  in  act  to  strike ;  but  just  as  he  came 
within  sword's  length,  he  dropped  the  long  and 
cumbrous  weapon,  leapt  lightly  over  the  Smith's 


DcEL  BETWEEN  Henst  Wthd  AND  NoBKAN.     (Drawn  by  W.  B.  Hole,  A.B.S.A.) 


harness  of  his  making  1 — Norman,  miserable  boy, 
why  brought  you  that  accursed  mail  1 " 

"If  my  arrow  has  flown  astray,  I  can  but  shoot 
my  life  after  it,"  answered  Norman-nan-Ord. 
*'  Stand  firm ;  you  shall  see  me  break  the  spell." 

"  Yes,  stand  firm,"  said  TorquiL  "  He  may  be 
a  fell  enchanter  ;  but  my  own  ear  has  heard,  and 
my  own  tongue  has  told,  that  Eachin  shall  leave 
the  battle  whole,  free,  and  unwounded — let  us  see 
the  Saxon  wizard  who  can  gainsay  that.  He  may 
be  a  strong  man,  but  the  fair  forest  of  the  oak 
shall  fall,  stock  and  bough,  ere  he  lay  a  finger  on 
my  Dault." 

****** 

The  wild  pibroch  again  sounded  the  onset ;  but 
the  two  parties  approached  each  other  more  slowly 
than  at  first,  as  men  who  knew  and  respected  each 


sword,  as  he  fetched  a  cut  at  him,  drew  his  dagger, 
and,  being  thus  within  Henry's  guard,  struck  him 
with  the  weapon  (his  own  gift)  on  the  side  of  the 
throat,  directing  the  blow  downwards  into  the 
chest,  and  cal'ing aloud,  at  the  same  time,  "You 
taught  me  the  stab  !" 

But  Henry  Wynd  wore  his  own  good  hauberk, 
doubly  defended  with  a  lining  of  tempered  steel. 
Had  he  been  less  surely  armed,  his  combats  had 
been  ended  for  ever.  Even  as  it  was,  he  was 
slightly  wounded. 

"Fool  !"  he  replied,  striking  Norman  a  blow 
with  the  pommel  of  his  long  sword,  which  made 
him  stagger  backwards,  "you  were  taught  the 
thrust,  but  not  the  parry ;"  and  fetching  a  blow  at 
his  antagonist,  which  cleft  his  skull  through  the 
steel-cap,  he  strode  over  the  lifeless  body  to  engage 


A   HIGHLAND   FEUD. 


17 


the   young  Chief,  who   now  stood  open  before 
him. 

But  the  sonorous  voice  of  Torquil  thundered 
out,  "  Another  for  Hector  !  "  and  the  two  brethren 
who  flanked  their  Chief  on  each  side,  thrust  forward 
upon  Henry,  and,  striking  both  at  once,  compelled 
him  to  keep  the  defensive. 

"  Forward,  race  of  the  Tiger  Cat  ! "  cried  Mac- 
<jrillie  Chattanach ;  "  save  the  brave  Saxon ;  let 
these  kites  feel  your  talons  ! " 

Already  much  wounded,  the  Chief  dragged  him- 
self up  to  the  Smith's  assistance,  and  cut  down  I 
one  by  whom  he  was  assailed.    Henry's  own  good 
sword  rid  him  of  the  other.  i 

"  Again  for  Hector !"  shouted  the  faithful  foster- 
father. 

"  Death  for  Hector  ! "  answered  two  more  of  his 
■devoted  sons,  and  opposed  themselves  to  the  fury 
of  the  Smith  and  those  who  had  come  to  his  aid  ; 
while  Eachin,  moving  towards  the  left  wing  of  the 
battle,  sought  less  formidable  adversaries,  and 
again  by  some  show  of  valour,  revived  the  sinking 
hopes  of  his  followers.  The  two  children  of  the 
oak,  who  had  covered  this  movement,  shared  the 
fate  of  their  brethren  ;  for  the  cry  of  the  Clan 
Chattan  Chief  had  drawn  to  that  part  of  the  field 
some  of  his  bravest  warriors.  The  sons  of  Torquil 
did  not  fall  unarenged,  but  left  dreadful  marks  of 
their  swords  on  the  persons  of  the  dead  and  living. 
But  the  necessity  of  keeping  their  most  distin- 
guished soldiers  around  the  person  of  their  Chief 
told  to  disadvantage  on  the  general  event  of  the 
combat ;  and  so  few  were  now  the  nvimber  who 
remained  fighting,  that  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
Clan  Chattan  had  fifteen  of  their  number  left, 
though  most  of  them  wounded ;  and  that  of  the 
Clan  Quhele  only  about  ten  remained,  of  whom 
there  were  four  of  the  Chief's  body-guard,  includ- 
ing Torquil  himself. 

They  fought  and  struggled  on,  however,  and  as 
their  strength  decayed  their  fury  seemed  to  in- 
crease. Henry  Wynd,  now  wounded  in  many 
places,  was  still  bent  on  breaking  through  or  ex- 
terminating the  band  of  bold  hearts  who  continued 
to  fight  around  the  object  of  his  animosity.  But 
still  the  father's  shout  of  "  Another  for  Hector  !  " 
was  cheerfully  answered  by  the  fatal  countersign, 
*'  Death  for  Hector  ! "  and  though  the  Clan  Quhele 
were  now  outnumbered,  the  combat  seemed  still 
dubious.  It  was  bodily  lassitude  alone  that  again 
compelled  them  to  another  pause. 

The  Clan  Chattan  were  then  observed  to  be 
twelve  in  number,  but  two  or  three  were  scarce 
able  to  stand  without  leaning  on  their  swords. 
Five  were  left  of  the  Clan  Quhele ;  Torquil  and 
his  youngest  son  were  of  the  number,  both  slightly 
wounded.  Eachin  alone  had,  from  the  vigilance 
used  to  intercept  all  blows  levelled  against  his 
person,  escaped  without  injury.  The  rage  of  both 
c 


parties  had  sunk,  through  exhaiistion,  into  sullen 
desperation.  They  walked  staggering,  as  if  in 
their  sleep,  through  the  carcases  of  the  slain,  and 
gazed  on  them,  as  if  again  to  animate  their  hatred 
towards  their  surviving  enemies,  by  viewing  the 
friends  they  had  lost. 

The  multitude  soon  after  beheld  the  survivors  of 
the  desperate  conflict  drawing  together  to  renew 
the  exterminating  feud  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 
as  the  spot  least  slippery  Avith  blood,  and  less  en- 
cumbered with  the  bodies  of  the  slain. 

"For  God's  sake— for  the  sake  of  the  mercy 
which  we  daily  pray  for,"  said  the  kind-hearted 
old  King,  to  the  Duke  of  Albany,  "let  this  be 
ended  !  Wherefore  should  these  wretched  rags 
and  remnants  of  humanity  be  sufi'ered  to  com- 
plete their  butchery  1  Surely  they  will  now  be 
ruled,  and  accept  of  peace  on  moderate  terms  1 " 

"  Compose  yourself,  my  liege,"  said  his  brother. 
"  These  men  are  the  pest  of  the  Lowlands.  Both 
Chiefs  are  still  living — if  they  go  back  unharmed, 
the  whole  day's  work  is  cast  away.  Remember 
your  promise  to  the  council,  that  you  would  not 
cry  hold." 

****** 
The  King  sighed  deeply.  "You  must  work 
your  pleasure,  and  are  too  wise  for  me  to  contend 
with.  I  can  but  turn  away,  and  shut  my  eyes 
from  the  sights  and  sounds  of  a  carnage  which 
makes  me  sicken.  But  well  I  know  that  God 
will  punish  me  for  even  witnessing  this  waste  of 
human  life." 

"  Sound,  trumpets !"  said  Albany ;  "  their  woimds 
will  stiffen  if  they  dally  longer." 

While  this  was  passing,  Torquil  was  embracing 
and  encouraging  his  young  Chief. 

"  Resist  the  witchcraft  but  a  few  minutes  longer  ! 
Be  of  good  cheer — you  will  come  ofi"  without 
either  scar  or  scratch,  wem  or  wound.  Be  of  good 
cheer  ! " 

"How  can  I  be  of  good  cheer,"  said  Eachin, 
"while  my  brave  kinsmen  have  one  by  one  died 
at  my  feet? — died  all  for  me,  who  could  never 
deserve  the  least  of  their  kindness  !  " 

"  And  for  what  were  they  born  save  to  die  for 
their  Chief  1 "  said  Torquil,  composedly.  "  Why 
lament  that  the  arrow  returns  not  to  the  quiver, 
providing  it  hit  the  mark  1  Cheer  up  yet.  Here 
are  Tormot  and  I  but  little  hurt,  while  the  wild- 
cats drag  themselves  through  the  plain  as  if  they 
were  half  throttled  by  the  terriers.  Yet  one  brave 
stand,  and  the  day  shall  be  your  own,  though  it 
may  well  be  that  you  alone  remain  alive.  Min- 
strels, sound  the  gathering  ! " 

The  pipers  on  both  sides  blew  their  charge,  and 
the  combatants  again  mingled  in  battle,  not  indeed 
with  the  same  strength,  but  with  unabated  in- 
veteracy. They  were  joined  by  those  whose  duty  it 
was  to  have  remained  neuter,  but  who  now  found 


1& 


GLEA^'liNGS   Jb'KOM   POPULAR   AUTHOKS. 


themselves  unable  to  do  so.  The  two  old  cham- 
pions who  boi'e  the  standards  had  gradually  ad- 
vanced from  the  extremity  of  the  lists,  and  now 
approached  close  to  the  immediate  scene  of  action. 
When  they  beheld  the  carnage  more  nearly,  they 
were  mutually  impelled  by  the  desire  to  revenge 
their  brethren,  or  not  to  survive  them.  They  at- 
tacked each  other  furiously  with  the  lances  to 
which  the  standards  were  attached,  closed  after 
exchanging  several  deadly  thrusts,  then  grappled 
in  close  strife,  still  holding  their  banners,  until  at 
length,  in  the  eagerness  of  the  conflict,  they  fell 
together  into  the  Tay,  and  were  found  drowned 
after  the  combat  closely  locked  in  each  other's 
arms.  The  fury  of  battle,  the  frenzy  of  rage  and 
despair,  infected  next  the  minstrels.  The  two 
pipers,  who  during  the  conflict  had  done  their 
utmost  to  keep  up  the  spirits  of  their  brethren, 
now  saw  the  dispute  well-nigh  terminated  for  want 
of  men  to  support  it.  They  threw  down  their  in- 
struments, rushed  desperately  upon  each  other  with 
their  daggers,  and  each  being  more  intent  on  des- 
patching his  opjwnent  than  in  defending  himself, 
the  piper  of  Clan  Quhele  was  almost  instantly 
slain,  and  he  of  Clan  Chattan  mortally  wounded. 
The  last,  nevertheless,  again  grasped  his  instru- 
ment, and  the  pibroch  of  the  clan  yet  poured  its 
expiring  notes  over  the  Clan  Chattan,  while  the 
dying  minstrel  had  breath  to  inspire  it  The  in- 
stnunent  which  he  iised,  or  at  least  that  part  of  it 
called  the  chanter,  is  preserved  in  the  family  of  a 
Highland  Chief  to  this  day,  and  is  much  honoured 
under  the  name  of  the  Federan  Dhu,  or  Black 
Chanter. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  final  charge,  young  Tormot, 
devoted,  like  his  brethren,  by  his  father  Torquil  to 
the  protection  of  his  Chief,  had  been  mortally 
wounded  by  the  unsparing  sword  of  the  Smith. 
The  other  two  remaining  of  the  Clan  Quhele  had 
also  fallen,  and  Torquil,  with  his  foster-son,  and 
the  wounded  Tonnot,  forced  to  retreat  before  eight 
or  ten  of  the  Clan  Chattan,  made  a  stand  on  the 
bank  of  the  river,  while  their  enemies  were  making 
such  exertions  as  their  wounds  would  permit  to 
come  up  with  them.  Torquil  had  just  reached  the 
spot  where  he  had  resolved  to  make  the  stand, 
when  the  youth  Tormot  dropped  and  expired. 
His  death  drew  from  his  father  the  first  and  only 
sigh  which  he  had  breathed  throughout  the  eventful 
day. 

"  My  son  Tormot ! "  he  said,  "  my  youngest  and 
dearest  !  But  if  I  save  Hector,  I  save  all.  Now, 
my  darling  Dault,  I  have  done  for  thee  all  that  man 
may,  excepting  the  last.  Let  me  undo  the  clasps 
of  that  ill-omened  armour,  and  do  thou  put  on 
that  of  Tormot ;  it  is  light,  and  will  fit  thee  well. 
While  you  do  so,  I  will  rush  on  these  crippled  men, 
and  make  what  play  with  them  I  can.  I  trust  I 
shall  have  but  little  to  do.  for  they  are  following 


each  other  like  disabled  steers.  At  least,  darling 
of  my  soul,  if  I  am  unable  to  save  thee,  I  can 
show  thee  how  a  man  should  die." 

While  Torquil  thus  spoke,  he  unloosed  the  clasps 
of  the  young  Chiefs  hauberk,  in  the  simple  belief 
that  he  could  thus  break  the  meshes  which  fear 
and  necromancy  had  twined  about  his  heart. 

"  My  father,  my  father,  my  more  than  parent  1 " 
said  the  unhappy  Eacliin.  "  Stay  with  me  ! — 
with  you  by  my  side,  I  feel  I  can  fight  to  the 
last." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  Torquil.  "  I  will  stop 
them  coming  up,  while  you  put  on  the  hauberk. 
God  eternally  bless  thee,  beloved  of  my  soul  ! " 

And  then,  brandishing  his  sword,  Torquil  of  the 
Oak  rushed  forward  with  the  same  fatal  war-cry, 
which  had  so  often  sounded  over  that  bloody  field. 
The  words  rung  three  times  in  a  voice  of  thunder ; 
and  each  time  that  he  cried  his  war-shout,  he 
struck  down  one  of  the  Clan  Chattan,  as  he  met 
them  successively  straggling  towards  him. — "  Brave 
battle,  hawk — well  flown,  falcon  ! "  exclaimed  the 
multitude,  as  they  witnessed  exertions  which 
seemed,  even  at  this  last  hour,  to  threaten  a  change 
of  the  fortunes  of  the  day.  Suddenly  these  cries 
were  hushed  into  silence,  and  succeeded  by  a 
clashing  of  swords  so  dreadful,  as  if  the  whole 
conflict  had  recommenced  in  the  person  of  Henry 
Wynd  and  Torquil  of  the  Oak.  They  cut,  foined, 
hewed,  and  thrust,  as  if  they  had  drawn  their 
blades  for  the  first  time  that  day ;  and  their  in- 
veteracy was  mutual,  for  Torquil  recognised  the 
foul  wizard,  who,  as  he  supposed,  had  cast  a  spell 
over  his  child  ;  and  Henry  saw  before  him  the 
giant,  who,  during  the  whole  conflict,  had  inter- 
rupted the  purpose  for  which  alone  he  had  joined 
the  combatants — that  of  engaging  in  single  combat 
with  Hector.  They  fought  with  an  equality  which , 
perhaps,  would  not  have  existed,  had  not  Heniy, 
more  wounded  than  his  antagonist,  been  somewhat 
deprived  of  his  usual  agility. 

Meanwhile  Eachin,  finding  himself  alone,  after 
a  disorderly  and  vain  attempt  to  put  on  his  foster- 
brother's  harness,  became  animated  by  an  emotion 
of  shame  and  despair,  and  hurried  forward  to 
support  his  foster-father  in  the  terrible  struggle, 
ere  some  other  of  the  Clan  Chattan  should  come 
up.  When  he  was  within  five  yards,  and  sternly 
determined  to  take  his  share  in  the  death-fight, 
his  foster-father  fell,  cleft  from  the  collar-bone  well- 
nigh  to  the  heart.  The  unfortunate  youth  saw  the 
fall  of  his  last  friend,  and  at  the  same  moment 
beheld  the  deadly  enemy  who  had  hun-ted  him 
through  the  whole  field  standing  within  sword's 
point  of  him,  and  brandishing  the  huge  weapon 
which  had  hewed  its  way  to  his  life  through  so 
many  obstacles.  Perhaps  this  was  enough  to  bring 
his  constitutional  timidity  to  its  highest  point  ; 
or  perhaps  he  recollected,  at  the  same  moment. 


THE    RHINE   AND   THE   MOSELLE. 


ly 


"that  lie  was  without  defensive  armour,  and  that  a 
line  of  enemies,  halting  indeed  and  crippled,  but 
•eager  for  revenge  and  blood,  were  closely  approach- 
ing. It  is  enough  to  say  that  his  heart  sickened, 
his  eyes  darkened,  his  ears  tingled,  his  brain  turned 
igiddy — all  other  considerations  were  lost  in  the 


apprehension  of  instant  death  ;  and,  drawing  one 
ineffectual  blow  at  the  Smith,  he  avoided  that 
which  was  aimed  at  him  in  return,  by  bounding 
backward ;  and  ere  the  former  could  recover  his 
weapon,  Eachin  had  plunged  into  the  stream  of 
the  Tay. 


THE    EHINE    AND    THE    MOSELLE. 


[By  Edwin  Arnold.] 


S  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
Jjf^         When  the  dismal  night  is  done, 
i^^Mr&^    Leaps  up  in  the  summer  blue  to  shine, 
So  gloriously  flows. 
From  his  cradle  in  the  snows. 
The  king  of   all  the    river  floods,  The 
Rhine. 


As  a  mailed  and  sceptred  king 

Sweeps  onward  triumphing, 
With  waves  of  helmets  flashing  in  his  line ; 

As  a  drinker,  past  control, 

With  the  red  wine  on  his  soul, 
•So  flashes  through  his  vintages  The  Rhine. 


As  a  lady  who  would  speak 
What  is  written  on  her  cheek. 
If  her  heart  would  give  her  tongue  the  leave 
to  tell, 


Who  fears  and  follows  still, 
And  dares  not  trust  her  will, 
So  follows  all  its  windings  The  Moselle. 


Like  the  silence  that  is  broken 
When  the  wished-for  word  is  spoken, 

And  the  heart  hath  a  home  where  it  may 
dwell, 
Like  the  sense  of  sudden  bliss 
And  the  first  long,  loving  kiss. 

Is  the  meeting  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Moselle. 


Like  the  two  lives  that  are  blended 

When  the  loneliness  is  ended, 
The  loneliness  each  heart  has  known  so  well ; 

Like  the  sun  and  moon  together, 

In  a  sky  of  splendid  weather, 
Is  the  marriage  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Mosellft 


20 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


SENT    TO    GOD. 


ARK   to   the  sounds  of   toil !  —  the 
sigus  and  the  sounds  of  life  ; 
The  strivings  of  muscle,  hand-labour, 
and  brain, 
With  which  the  city  is  rife. 
How  strange  and  unfit  doth  the  turmoil 
break 
On   the   stilly  chamber  where  Death 
doth  reign 
Unseen  like  a  coiled  snake. 

In  the  heart  of  this  heartless  town — O  well  the 
term  agrees  I — 
The  heart  of  a  woman  beats  fitful  and  slow, 
For  life  is  at  the  lees  ; 
And  the  breath  that  she  breathes  would  scarcely 
stir 
A  feather  away  from  its  flickering  blow  ; 
Death  measures  it  unto  her. 

O  !  look  at  that  thin,  wan  face, — look  at  that 
straining  eye. 
And  read  the  tale  of  the  broken  heart 
That  is  about  to  die  ; 
And  read  the  tale  of  that  anguished  look 
Which  speaks,  though  the  tongue  forgets  its 
part, 
As  plain  as  a  printed  book. 

Look  at  that  wasted  arm — the  bones  through  the 
white  skin  start. 
Wasted,  'tis  true,  by  sickness  and  pain  ; 
But  hunger  has  worked  its  part  : 
The  last  of  its  strength  was  spent,  to  circle  his 
neck  and  draw 
Her  child  to  the  breast  where  his  head  is  lain. 
So  soon  to  lie  no  more. 

Widow  and  orphan-boy — one  flesh — one  love — one 
life- 
Knotted  in  one,  like  a  Gordian  knot, 
And  cut  by  Death's  keen  knife. 
Each  had  but  each — the  Widow  her  son,  the  Son 
his  mother's  love ; 
And  she  shivered  with  fear  to  exchange  that 
lot 
For  the  lot  in  Heaven  above. 

What !  leave  that  little  child  ?    She  had  seen  him 
hunger  and  thirst. 
When  the  crust  that  she  had  feigned  to  eat. 
And  the  milk  that  she  had  nursed, 
Starving  herself  that  he  might  live, 
Had  failed,  yet  his  kisses  and  whispers  sweet 
Were  loving  as  when  she  had  food  to  give. 


What  !  leave  that  loving  child  ?  She  had  seen  his. 
little  face 
Peering  out  thro'  the  broken  pane, 
With  its  anxious  baby  grace. 
When  she  sold  her  shawl  for  a  loaf  of  bread, 
And  seen  its  peace  come  back  again. 
When  he  has  heard  her  tread. 

She  had  seen  his  troubled  look,  of  wonder  and 
blended  thought. 
When,  crushed  at  last,  the  anguished  waU 
Has  burst  from  her  soul  distraught ; 
She  has  seen  him  conceal  both  hunger  and  cold, 
Tho'    his  face  grew  pinched,  and  sharp,  and. 
pale — 
In  misery  growing  old. 

And  how  could  she  leave  her  child  1 — the  hearth 
and  the  cupboard  bare — 
With  never  a  soul  to  comfort  or  shield — 
Not  even  a  stranger's  care. 
She  had  told  him,  while  yet  her  tongue  could 
speak, 
That  the  Father  in  Heaven  to  whom  they  had 
kneeled, 
Would  temper  the  wind  to  the  weak. 

That  He  had  called  her  away,  and  she  and  her 
child  must  part, 
And  he,  with  a  smothered  cry,  to  her  languid 
arms  had  crept, 
Till  his  face  lay  on  her  heart. 
She  had  heard  his  cry  of  love — his  trembling,, 
gasping  prayer — 
To  take  him  with  her  where  father  slept, 
And  not  to  leave  him  there. 

And  how  could  she  leave  her  child  1    How  could 
his  little  mind 
Conceive  the  meaning  of  Soul  and  Death  1 
Why  he  was  left  behind — 
She  said  her  soul  had  come  from  God,  and  now  it 
went  to  Him, 
To  live,  tho'  her  body  would  lose  its  breath. 
And  her  eye  of  flesh  be  dim. 

That  she  shoulci  see  her  boy — that  she  should 
hear  him  pray 
That  God  would  make  a  home  for  her. 
And  call  him  to«  away. 
Then  strangely  thoughtful  grew  the  child — "Oh, 
mother,  will  you  tell 
Your  soul  to  tell  the  God  of  prayer 
That  I  do  love  you  well  ? 


SENT  TO   GOD. 


21 


*'  And,  if  He  takes  you  quite,  I've  nothing  left  to 
love  ; 
And,  then,  He'll  let  me  go  with  you. 
And  live  in  the  Honae  above  ! " 


Resting  upon  the  mother's  breast,  while  his  little- 
coat  was  spread, 
To  warm  the  form  whence  warmth  was  fled. 
With  useless,  childish  care. 


"  For  life  is  at  the  lees."    (Drawn  by  M.  L.  Gow.) 


She  answered  never  a  word — the  last  beam  of  her  eye. 
Raised  from  her  child,  to  Heaven  flew. 
And  her  soul  passed  in  a  sigh. 

A  day  and  a  night  were  passed — and  strangers 
entered  there, 
And  found  the  mother  Ijnng  dead, 

And  the  child  with  hit  curly  hair,  , 


Mother  and  child  were  dead — the  last  of  their  care 
was  o'er — 
A  life  of  want — a  pauper's  grave — 
The  world  would  give  no  more. 
But  the  smile  on  the  face  of  the  child,  tho'  he  was 
but  a  lifeless  clod. 
Told  of  the  answer  that  Mercy  gave 
To  the  message — Sent  to  God ! 


22 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


HIS     SPEECH. 

[By  Max  Adeler.] 


^OME  of  the  friends  of  Judge  Pitman 
induced    him,   just    before    the    last 
election,  to  permit  himself  to  be  nomi- 
nated for  the  State  Legislature,  and 
accordingly  he  was  presented  to  the  people 
of  this  community  as  a  candidate. 

On  the  day  before  the  election  I 
received  from  the  chairman  a  brief  note, 
.saying  that  I  had  been  announced  to  speak  at 
Dover  that  evening  before  a  great  mass  meeting, 
and  requesting  me  to  take  the  early  afternoon 
train,  so  that  I  might  report  to  the  local  chairman 
in  Dover  before  nightfall.  The  pleasure  with 
which  this  summons  was  received  was  in  some 
measure  marred  by  the  fact  that  I  had  not  a 
speech  ready,  and  the  time  was  so  short  that 
elaborate  preparation  was  impossible. 

The  synopsis,  if  it  may  be  called  by  that  name, 
presented  an  appearance  something  like  the 
following. 

THE  SPEECH. 

1.  Exordium,  concluding  with  Scott's  famous 
lines,  "Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so 
^ead,"  «tc. 

2.  Arguments,  introducing  a  narrative  of  the 
facts  in  the  case  of  Hotchkiss,  who  was  locked  out 
upon  the  roof  of  his  house  all  night.  The  design 
of  the  story  is  to  give  a  striking  picture  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  opposition  party  will  be  left 
out  in  the  cold  by  the  election.  (Make  this  strong, 
and  pause  for  cheers.) 

3.  Arguments,  followed  by  the  story  of  the 
Kickapoo  Indian  who  saw  a  locomotive  approach- 
ing upon  the  plains,  and  thinking  it  was  a  superior 
breed  of  buflfalo,  determined  to  capture  it,  so  that 
he  could  take  the  first  prize  at  the  Kickapoo 
agricultural  fair.  He  tied  his  lasso  to  his  waist 
and  threw  the  other  end  over  the  smoke-stack. 
The  locomotive  did  not  stop ;  but  when  the 
■engineer  arrived  at  the  next  station,  he  went  out 
-and  cut  the  string  by  which  a  small  bit  of  copper- 
coloured  meat  was  tied  to  his  smoke-stack.  This 
is  to  illustrate  the  folly  of  the  attempt  of  con- 
-servatism  to  check  the  onward  career  of  pure  and 
enlightened  liberalism  toward  perfect  civilisa- 
tion, &c.  &c. 

4.  Arguments,  and  then  the  anecdote  of  that 
Dutchman  in  Berks  county,  who  on  the  10th 
of  October,  1866,  was  observed  to  go  out  into  his 
yard  and  raise  the  American  flag ;  then  he  got  his 
^n  and  fired  a  salute  seventeen  or  eighteen  times, 
after  which  he  consumed  six  packs  of  fire-crackers 
and  gave  three  cheers  for  the  Union.  He  enjoyed 
iiimseif  in  this  manner  nearly  all  day,  while  his 


neighbours  gathered  around  outside  and  placed 
their  elbows  upon  the  fence,  watching  him  and 
wondering  what  on  earth  he  meant.  A  pedlar 
who  came  along  stopped,  and  had  an  interview- 
with  him.  To  his  surprise,  he  found  that  the 
German  agriculturist  was  celebrating  the  Fourth 
of  July,  1859.  He  did  not  know  that  it  was  any 
later  in  the  century,  for  he  had  been  keeping  his 
time  on  a  notched  stick ;  and  having  been  sick  a 
great  deal,  he  had  gotten  the  thing  in  a  dreadful 
tangle.  When  he  learned  that  he  was  seven 
Fourths  in  arrears,  he  was  depressed  ;  but  he  sent 
out  and  bought  a  box  of  fire-crackers  and  a  barrel 
of  gunpowder,  and  spent  a  week  catching  up. 

5.  Arguments,  supplemented  with  the  narrative 
of  a  confiding  man  who  had  such  child-like  faith 
in  a  patent  fire-extinguisher  which  he  had 
purchased,  that  he  set  fire  to  his  house  merely  to 
have  the  fun  of  putting  it  out.  The  fire  burned 
furiously,  but  the  extinguisher  gave  only  two  or 
three  imbecile  squirts  and  then  collapsed,  and  in 
two  hours  his  residence  was  in  ashes.  Go  on  to 
say  that  our  enemies  have  applied  the  torch  of 
anarchy  to  the  edifice  of  this  government,  but  that 
there  is  an  extinguisher  which  will  not  only  not 
collapse,  but  will  subdue  the  flames  and  quench 
the  incendiary  organisation,  and  that  extinguisher 
is  our  party.    (Allow  time  for  applause  here.) 

6.  Arguments,  introducing  the  story  of  the 
Sussex  county  farmer  who  was  discouraged 
because  his  wife  was  perfidious.  Before  he  was 
married  she  vowed  over  and  over  again  that  she 
could  chop  four  cords  of  wood  a  day,  but  after  the 
ceremony  the  farmer  found  he  was  deceived.  The 
treacherous  woman  could  not  chop  more  than  two 
cords  and  a  half,  and  so  the  dream  of  the  husband 
was  dissipated,  and  he  demanded  a  divorce  as  the 
only  balm  for  the  wounds  which  lacerated  his 
heart.  Let  this  serve  to  illustrate  the  point  that 
our  political  enemies  have  deceived  us  with 
promises  to  reduce  the  debt,  to  institute  reforms, 
&c.  &c.,  none  of  which  they  have  kept,  and  now 
we  must  have  the  government  separated  from 
them  by  such  a  divorce  as  will  be  decreed  to- 
morrow, &c.  &c. 

7.  Peroration,  working  in  if  possible  the  story  of 
Commodore  Scudder's  dog,  which,  while  out  with 
its  master  one  day,  pointed  at  some  partridges. 
The  commodore  was  about  to  fire,  but  he  suddenly 
received  orders  to  go  off  on  a  three  years'  cruise, 
so  he  dropped  his  gun,  left  the  dog  standing  there, 
and  went  right  to  sea.  When  he  returned,  three 
years  later,  he  went  back  to  the  field,  and  there 
was  his  gun,  there  was  the  skeleton  of  the  dog 


HIS   SPEECH. 


23 


still  standing  and  pointing  just  as  he  had  left  it, 
and  a  little  farther  on  were  the  skeletons  of  the 
partridges.  Show  how  our  adversaries  in  their 
relations  to  the  negro  question  resemble  that  dog. 
We  came  away  years  ago  and  left  them  pointing 
at  the  negro  question,  and  we  come  back  now  to 
find  that  they  are  at  it  yet. 

When  the  train  arrived  at  Dover,  I  was  gratified 
to  find  the  chairman  of  the  local  committee  and 
eighteen  of  his  fellow-citizens  waiting  for  me  with 
carriages  and  a  brass  band.  As  I  stepped  from 
the  car  the  band  played  "See,  the  Conquering 
Hero  comes  ! " 

Then  the  music  ceased,  and  the  chairman  pro- 
posed "  three  cheers  for  our  eloquent  visitor."  The 
devoted  beings  around  him  cheered  lustily.  The 
chairman  thereupon  came  forward  and  welcomed 
me. 

I  had  to  begin.  Bowing  to  the  chairman,  I 
said,  "  Mr.  Chairman  and  fellow-citizens,  there  are 
times — times— there  are  times,  fellow-citizens, 
when — times  when — when  the  heart — there  are 
times,  I  say,  Mr.  Chairman  and  fellow-citizens, 
when  the  heart — the  heart  of — of — "  It  wouldn't 
do.  I  stuck  fast,  and  could  not  get  out  another 
word. 

I  began  again  : — 

"  There  are  times,  I  say,  fellow-citizens  and  Mr. 
Chairman,  when  the  heart  inquires  if  there 
breathes  a  man  with  soul  so  dead,  who  never  to 
himself  hath  said,  'This  is  my  own,  my  native 
land' — whose  heart  has  ne'er  within  him  burned 
as  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned  from 
wanderings '  on  a  foreign  shore  ?  If  such  there 
breathe,  go,  mark  him  well  ! "  (Here  I  pointed  to 
the  street,  and  one  of  the  committee,  who  seemed 
not  to  comprehend. the  thing  exactly,  rushed  to 
the  window,  and  looked  out,  as  if  he  intended  to 
call  a  policeman  to  arrest  the  wretch  referred  to.) 
"  For  him  no  minstrel  raptures  swell."  (Here  the 
leader  of  the  band  bowed,  as  if  he  had  a  vague 
idea  that  this  was  a  compliment  ingeniously 
worked  into  the  speech  for  his  benefit.)  "High 
though  his  titles,  proud  his  name,  boundless  his 
wealth  as  wish  can  claim  ;  despite  these  titles, 
power,  and  pelf,  the  wretch,  concentrated  all  in 
self,  living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown,  and  doubly 
dying  shall  go  down  to  tlie  vile  dust  from  whence 
he  sprung,  unwept,  unhonoured,  and  unsung." 

I  stopped.  There  was  embarrassing  silence  for 
a  moment,  as  if  everybody  thought  I  had  some- 
thing more  to  say.  But  I  put  on  my  hat  and 
shouldered  my  umbrella  to  assure  them  that  the 
aifair  was  ended.  Then  it  began  to  be  apparent 
that  the  company  failed  to  grasp  the  purpose  of 
my  remarks.  One  man  evidently  thought  I  was 
complaining  of  something  that  happened  to  me 
while  I  was  upon  the  train,  for  he  took  me  aside 


and  asked  me  in  a  confidential  whisper  if  it 
wouldn't  be  better  for  him  to  see  the  conductor 
about  it. 

Another  man  inquired  if  the  governor  was  the 
man  referred  to. 

I  said,  "  No  ;  the  remarks  were  of  a  poetical 
nature  ;  they  were  quoted." 

The  man  seemed  surprised,  and  asked  where  I 
got  them  from. 

"  From  Marmion." 

He  considered  a  moment,  and  then  said — 

"Don't  know  him.  Philadelphia  man,  I 
reckon?" 

The  occasion  was  too  sad  for  words.  I  took 
the  chairman's  arm  and  we  marched  out  to  the 
carriages.  It  was  supper-time  when  we  reached 
the  hotel,  and  as  soon  as  we  entered,  the  chairman 
invited  us  into  one  of  the  parlours,  where  an 
elaborate  repast  had  been  prepared  for  the  whole 
party.  We  went  into  the  room,  keeping  step 
with  a  march  played  by  the  band,  which  wa& 
placed  in  the  corner.  When  supper  was  over,  it 
was  with  dismay  that  I  saw  the  irrepressible 
chairman  rise  and  propose  a  toast,  to  which  he 
called  upon  one  of  the  company  to  respond. 

So  I  resolved  that  if  the  chairman  called  upon 
me  I  would  tell  my  number  two  story,  giving  the 
arguments,  and  omitting  all  of  it  from  my  speech 
in  the  evening. 

He  did  call.  When  two  or  three  men  had 
spoken,  the  chairman  offered  the  toast,  "  The 
orator  of  the  evening,"  and  it  was  received  with 
applause. 

I  rose,  and  said :  "Mr.  Chairman  and  gentlemen, 
I  am  too  much  fatigued  to  make  a  speech,  and  I 
wish  to  save  my  voice  for  to-night ;  so  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  of  a  man  I  used  to  know  whose  name 
was  Hotchkiss.  He  Hved  up  at  New  Castle,  and 
one  night  he  thought  he  would  have  a  little  innocent 
fun  scaring  his  wife  by  dropping  a  loose  brick  or 
two  down  the  chimney  into  the  fireplace  in  her 
room.  So  he  slipped  softly  out  of  bed  ;  and  crept 
out  upon  the  roof.  Mr.  Hotchkiss  dropped  nine- 
teen bricks  down  that  chimney,  Mr.  Chairman 
and  gentlemen,  each  one  with  an  emphatic  slam, 
but  his  wife  didn't  scream  once." 

Everybody  seemed  to  think  this  was  the  end  of 
the  story ;  so  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  although 
I  had  not  reached  the  humorous  part  of  the  real 
point  of  the  anecdote,  which  describes  how  Hotch- 
kiss gave  it  up  and  tried  to  go  down-stairs,  but  was 
surprised  to  find  that  Mrs.  Hotchkiss,  who  had 
been  watching  all  the  time,  had  retreated,  fasten- 
ing the  trap-door,  so  that  he  spent  the  next  four 
hours  upon  the  comb  of  the  roof. 

At  eight  o'clock  a  very  large  crowd  really  did 
assemble  in  front  of  the  porch  of  one  of  the  hotels. 
I  felt  somewhat  nervous;  but  I  was  tolerably 
certain  I  could  speak  my  piece  acceptably,  even 


24 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Tvith  the  poetry  torn  oiit  of  the  introduction  and 
the  number  two  story  sacrificed. 

The  chairman  began  with  a  short  speech  in 
which  he  went  over  ahnost  precisely  the  ground 
covered  by  my  introduction  ;  and  as  that  portion 
of  my  oration  was  already  reduced  to  a  fragment 
by  the  use  of  the  verses,  I  quietly  resolved  to 
begin,  when  my  turn  came,  with  point  number 
two. 

The  Chairman  introduced  to  the  crowd  Mr. 
Keyser,  who  was  received  with  cheers.  He  was  a 
ready  speaker,  and  he  began,  to  my  deep  regret, 
by  telling  in  capital  style  my  story  number  three, 
after  which  he  used  up  some  of  my  number  six 
arguments. 

Mr.  Keyser  then  sat  down,  and  Mr.  Schwartz 
was  introduced.    Mr.  Schwartz  observed  that  it 


was  pleasantly  familiar.  Krumbauer  went  ahead, 
and  the  crowd  received  his  remarks  with  roars  of 
laughter.  After  one  particularly  exuberant  out- 
burst of  merriment,  I  asked  the  man  who  sat  next 
to  me,  and  who  seemed  deeply  interested  in  the 
story — 

"What  was  that  little  joke  of  Krumbauer's ? 
It  must  have  been  first-rate."' 

"  So  it  was,"  he  said.  "  It  was  about  a  Dutch- 
man up  in  Berks  county  who  got  mixed  up  in 
his  dates." 

"What  dates "?"  I  gasped,  in  awful  apprehension. 

"Why,  his  Fourths  of  July,  you  know.  Got 
seven  or  eight  years  in  arrears  and  tried  to  make 
them  all  up  at  once.    Good,  wasn't  it  1  " 

"  Good  1  I  should  think  so  ;  ha  !  ha  !  My 
very  best  story,  as  I'm  a  sinner  ! " 


ERUMBArss'S  Spxkch. 


"was  hardly  worth  while  for  him  to  attempt  to 
make  anything  like  a  speech,  because  the  gentle- 
man from  New  Castle  had  come  down  on  purpose 
to  discuss  the  issues  of  the  campaign,  and  the 
audience,  of  course,  was  anxious  to  hear  him.  Mr. 
Schwartz  would  only  tell  a  little  story  which 
seemed  to  illustrate  a  point  he  wi.shed  to  make, 
and  he  thereupon  related  my  anecdote  number 
seven,  making  it  appear  that  he  was  the  bosom 
friend  of  Commodore  Scudder  and  an  acquaint- 
ance of  the  man  who  made  the  gun.  The  point 
illustrated,  I  was  shocked  to  find,  was  almost 
precisely  that  which  I  had  attached  to  my  story 
number  seven.  The  situation  began  to  have  a 
serious  appearance.  Here,  at  one  fell  swoop,  two 
of  my  best  stories  and  three  of  my  sets  of  argu- 
ments were  swept  off  into  utter  uselessness. 

When  Schwartz  withdrew,  a  man  named  Krum- 
bauer was  brought  forward.  Krumbauer  was  a 
German,  and  the  chairman  announced  that  he 
would  speak  in  that  language  for  the  benefit  of 
those  persons  in  the  audience  to  whom  the  tongue 


It  was  awfully  bad.  I  could  have  strangled 
Knimbauer  and  then  chopped  him  into  bits.  The 
ground  seemed  slipping  away  beneath  me  ;  there 
was  the  merest  skeleton  of  a  speech  left.  But  I 
determined  to  take  that  and  do  my  best,  trusting 
to  luck  for  a  happy  result. 

But  my  turn  had  not  yet  come.  Mr.  Wilson  was 
dragged  out  next,  and  I  thought  I  perceived  a  de- 
moniac smile  steal  over  the  countenance  of  the 
cymbal  player  as  Wilson  said  he  was  too  hoarse  to 
say  much  ;  he  would  leave  the  heavy  work  for  the 
brilliant  young  orator  who  was  here  from  New 
Castle.  He  would  skim  rapidly  over  the  ground 
and  then  retire .  He  did.  Wilson  rapidly  skimmed 
all  the  cream  off  of  my  arguments  numbers  two, 
five,  and  six,  and  wound  up  by  offering  the  whole 
of  my  number  four  argument.  My  hair  fairly 
stood  on  end  when  Wilson  bowed  and  left  the 
stand.  What  on  earth  was  I  to  do  now  ?  In  an 
agony  of  despair,  I  turned  to  the  man  next  to  me 
and  asked  him  if  I  would  have  to  follow  Wilson. 

He  said  it  was  his  turn  now. 


HIS   SPEECH. 


25 


"  And  what  are  you  going  to  say  1"  I  demanded, 
suspiciously. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  replied — "  nothing  at  all.  I 
-want  to  leave  room  for  you.  I'll  just  tell  a 
little  story  or  so,  to  amuse  them,  and  then  sit 
down." 

"  What  story,  for  instance  1"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing;  only  a  little  yarn  I 
happen  to  remember  about  a  farmer  who  married 
a  woman  who  said  she  could  cut  four  cords  of 
wood,  when  she  couldn't." 

My  worst  fears  were  realised.  I  turned  to  the 
man  next  to  me,  and  said,  with  suppressed  emotion — 

"  May  I  ask  your  name,  my  friend  'i  " 

He  said  his  name  was  Gumbs. 

"  May  I  inquire  what  your  Christian  name  is  ] " 

He  said  it  was  William  Henry. 

"Well,  William  Henry  Gumbs,"  I  exclaimed, 
*'  gaze  at  me  !  Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  would 
slay  a  human  being  in  cold  blood  1 " 

"  Hm-m-m,  n-no ;  you  don't,"  he  replied,  with  an 
air  of  critical  consideration. 

"  But  I  AM  !"  said  I,  fiercely—"  I  AM  ;  and  I 
tell  you  now  that  if  you  undertake  to  relate  that 
anecdote  about  the  farmer's  wife  I  will  kill  you 
without  a  moment's  warning;  I  will,  by  George  !" 

Mr.  Gumbs  instantly  jumped  up,  placed  his 
hand  on  the  railing  of  the  porch,  and  got  over 
suddenly  into  the  crowd.  He  stood  there  pointing 
me  out  to  the  bystanders,  and  doubtless  advancing 
the  theory  that  I  was  an  oi'iginal  kind  of  a  lunatic, 
who  might  be  expected  to  have  at  any  moment  a 
fit  which  would  be  interesting  when  studied  from 
a  distance. 

The  chairman  looked  around,  intending  to  call 
Tipon  my  friend  Mr.  Gumbs;  but  not  perceiving 
him,  he  came  to  me  and  said  : 

"  Now  is  your  chance,  sir ;  splendid  opportunity ; 
crowd  worked  up  to  just  the  proper  pitch.  We 
have  paved  the  way  for  you ;  go  in  and  do  your 
best." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  hold  on  for  a  few  moments,  will 
you?  I  can't  speak  now;  the  fact  is  I  am  not 
quite  ready.    Kun  out  some  other  man." 

"  Haven't  got  another  man.  Kept  you  for  the 
last  purposely,  and  the  crowd  is  waiting.  Come 
ahead  and  pitch  in,  and  give  it  to  'em  hot  and 
heavy.  Hit  'em  hard,  old  fellow,  hit  'em 
hard." 

The  crowd  received  me  with  three  hearty  cheers. 
As  I  heard  them  I  began  to  feel  dizzy.  The 
audience  seemed  to  swim  around  and  to  increase 
tenfold  in  size.  By  a  resolute  effort  I  recovered 
my  self-possession  partially,  and  determined  to 
begin.  I  could  not  think  of  anything  but  the  two 
stories,  and  I  resolved  to  tell  them  as  well  as  I 
could.    I  said,  "  Fellow-citizens  :  It  is  so  late  now, 


that  I  will  not  attempt  to  make  a  speech  to  you." 
(Cries  of  "Yes  !"  "  Go  ahead  !"  "Never  mind 
the  time  !"  &c.  &c.)  Elevating  my  voice,  I  re- 
peated :  "  I  say  it  is  so  late  now  that  I  can't  make 


CONSTBBNATION  OF    COMMITTEE. 

a  speech  as  I  intended  on  account  of  its  being  so 
late  that  the  speech  which  I  intended  to  make 
would  keep  you  here  too  late  if  I  made  it  as  I 
intended  to.  So  I  will  tell  you  a  story  about  a 
man  who  bought  a  patent  fire-extinguisher  which 
was  warranted  to  split  four  cords  of  wood  a  day  ; 
so  he  set  fire  to  his  house  to  try  her,  and — No,  it 
was  his  wife  who  was  warranted  to  split  four  cords 
of  wood — I  got  it  wrong;  and  when  the  flames  ob- 
tained full  headway,  he  found  she  could  only  split 
two  cords  and  a  half,  and  it  made  him —  What  I 
mean  is  that  the  farmer,  when  he  bought  the 
exting — courted  her,  that  is,  she  said  she  could  set 
fire  to  the  house,  and  when  he  tried  her,  she 
collapsed  the  first  time — the  extinguisher  did,  and 
he  wanted  a  divorce  because  his  house —  Oh,  hang 
it,  fellow-citizens,  you  understand  that  this  man, 
or  farmer,  rather,  bought  a — I  should  say  courted 
a — that  is,  a  fire-ex —  "  (Desperately)  "  Fellow- 
citizens  !    If  any  man  shoots  the   AMEnrcAN 

FLAG,    PULL    HIM    DOWN 
AS     FOR     ME,     GIVE     ME 
DEATH  !" 

As  I  shouted  this  out  at  the  top  of  my  voice,  in 
an  ecstasy  of  confusion,  a  wild  tumultuous  yell  of 
laughter  came  up  from  the  crowd.  I  rushed  down 
the  street  to  the  station,  with  the  shouts  of  the 
crowd  and  the  uproarious  music  of  the  band 
ringing  in  my  ears.  I  got  upon  a  train,  and  spent 
the  night  riding  to  New  Castle. 


UPON    THE    SPOT  ;    BUT 
LIBERTY     OR     GIVE     ME 


20 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  WEDDING   RING. 

[By  W.  E.  S.  Ralston.] 


'Vona^tf 


I?  ID  in  a  drawer  which  rarely  sees  the  light, 
With  no  companions  of  my  solitude 
^     Beyond  a  few  worn  relics  of  the  Past, 
A  glove,  a  lock  of  hair,  and  two  or  three 

Old  letters,  here  I  slowly  pass  away 
';"    A  dull  existence. 
I  Yet  there  was  a  time 

When  all  my  life  was  joyous,  when  I  knew 
What  warmth  and  sunlight  meant,  and  I  was  loved 
And  valued  far  beyond  comparison 
With  costlier  trinkets. 

^lany  a  year  has  passed 
Since  deep  within  the  earth  the  gold  lay  hid 
From  which  men  framed  me  :  fading  memories 
Still  haunt  me  of  a  former  life  which  ran 
In  glittering  veins  through  lustrous  rocks  of  spar, 
And  then  of  transformations  swift  and  strange 
Through  which  I  passed  till,  one  bright  summer 

day, 
I  found  myself,  a  gleaming  circlet,  wrapped 
In  softest  bed  of  fleecy  wool,  a  score 
Of  bright  companions  nestling  by  my  side, 
Laid  in  the  sunlight  which  came  streaming  through 
A  wall  of  crj'stal.     Every  day  there  bent 
Bright  faces  over  us,  fair  girls  whose  cheeks 
Flushed  rosy-red  as  in  their  little  hands 
They  poised  us,  youths  whose  voices  took 
A  softer  tone  whenever  they  addressed 
Their  sweet  companions,     Happy  laughter  rang 
Above  us,  mixed  with  tender  cadences, 
And  now  and  then  a  tear  would  fall  and  dim 
Our  lustre  for  a  moment. 

Well,  there  came 
A  day  when  I  was  chosen  by  a  hand 
So  white  and  delicate,  it  seemed  as  if 
'Twere  made  of  snow,  and  snow-like  seemed  the 

brow 
Of  her  who  chose  me,  and  the  graceful  neck  ; 
But  sunny  light  gleamed  from  her  golden  hair, 
And  sky-like  beamed  the  azure  of  her  eye. 
A  few  brief  hours  went  swiftly  by,  and  then 
I  found  myself  encircling  in  my  clasp 
Her  soft  white  finger,  and  I  felt  the  hand 
Of  her  proud  husband,  as  it  tenderly 
But    firmly  closed    round    hers,  and    heard   his 

voice 
Address  her  as  his  love,  his  own  at  last. 
F)om  that  time  forward,  for  a  score  of  years, 
My  life  was  linked  with  happiness  ;  the  sun 
-Seemed  always  shining  on  me  ;  joyfulness 


Made  its  abode  within  the  peaceful  home 

Wherein  my  mistress  moved,  and  time  passed  by 

And  scarcely  altered  her  ;  she  never  lost 

Tlie  charm  of  voice  and  look  which  won  all  hearts 

Where'er  she  went,  and  sorrow  seldom  came 

To  line  her  cheek   or  brow,  or  turn  to  grey 

The  golden  radiance  which,  halo-like, 

Gleam'd  round  her  head ;  about  her  grew  a  group^ 

Of  children,  from  whose  soft  blue  eyes  her  calm. 

Contented  spirit  seemed  to  look  ;  and  he 

Who  won  her  maiden  love,  still  ruled  her  heart 

Through  womanhood,  nor  ever  swerved  one  jot 

From  his  allegiance  to  his  perfect  wife. 

My  place  seemed  fix'd  for  ever  on  her  hand, 

Until  that  fatal  day  which  brought  the  shade 

Of  death  across  our  sunlight,  and  she  lost 

The  child  she  loved  the  dearest  :  from  that  time 

Her  voice  grew  sadder,  and  I  felt  my  hold 

Grow  feebler  on  her  finger  ;  still  she  tried 

To  wear  the  old  smile  on  her  cheek  whene'er 

Her  husband  watched  her  ;  but  at  times,  aloue, 

I  heard  her  sob  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Then  she  fell  ill,  and  all  the  house  grew  dark, 

And  one  sad  day  her  hand  turned  cold  and  numb. 

And  I  was  taken  from  it.     Ne'er  again 

Saw  I  the  mistress  whom  I  loved  so  well ; 

But  from  her  hair  a  golden  chain  was  made, 

From  which  I  hung  close  to  her  husband's  heart. 

There  all  his  life  he  wore  me,  till  at  last 

He,  dying,  gave  me  to  his  eldest  girl, 

And  bid  her  keep  me  for  her  mother's  sake. 

And  so  I  found  myself  placed  here,  eway 

With  these  old  letters  telling  of  his  love 

And  hers,  the  ink  now  faded,  and  the  gloss 

Gone  from  the  paper  ;  here,  too,  shines  a  lock 

Of  her  bright  hair,  and  there  a  glove  she  wore 

Upon  the  day  when  she  became  a  wife. 

Her  children  long  have  married,  and  at  times 

I  hear  sweet  tiny  voices  crying,  "  Please 

Open  the  drawer  and  let  us  see  the  ring 

Grandmamma  wore  upon  her  wedding-day." 

Then  the  drawer  opens,  and  the  light  once  more 

Dances  around  me,  and  again  I  seem 

To  see  the  golden  hair  I  knew  so  well, 

And  watch  the  soft  blue  of  the  eyes  I  loved. 

For  in  her  children's  children  yet  there  lives 

Some  sweet  reflection  of  my  lady's  face. 

Then  shuts  the  drawer,  the  darkness  comes  again^ 

And  I  am  left  once  more  to  muse  alone, 

And  brood  upon  the  memories  of  the  Past, 


HOW   TO   WASH   A  DOG. 


27 


HOW    TO    WASH    A    DOG. 


DOG  was  look- 
ing very  scrubby 
about  the  back. 
I  thought  he  was 
going  to  have 
the  mange — not 
that  I  knew 
mange  if  I  saw 
it,  only  it  was 
a  sort  of  word 
that  sounded 
like  the  look  of 
that  dog's  back. 
So  I  went  to  a 
friend  who  knew 
a  deal  about 
dogs  (which  I 
■don't),  and  said  mine  was  going  to  have  the  mange 
— what  was  good  for  it?  Sulphur,  he  said,  was 
the  best  thing  to  use  ;  safe  cure  for  it ;  no  diffi- 
culty. I  didn't  know  whether  the  sulphur  should 
be  taken  as  a  pill,  or  put  on  like  ointment ;  all  I 
knew  was  that  he  said  "  sulphur,"  and  I  did  not 
-choose  to  expose  my  ignorance  by  asking. 

I  concluded  I  would  try  the  effects  of  a  wash  first. 
I  went  into  a  grocer's,  and  asked  for  three- 
penn'orth   of  soft-soap,  saying  in  an   off-hand 
way,  "Kills  fleas,  doesn't  if?"     I  had  never 
seen  soft-soap  before  (I  never  want  to  see  it        »'  >  -J 
:again ;  but  let  that  pass),  so  I  was  in- 
terested in  its  appearance  when  I  got 
a  lump,  about  the  size  of  my  two 
fists,  of  a  stodgy,  moshy,  clammy-         ,:--^^^' 
looking    mass,    resembling    a 
mixture  of  sand  and  half- 
frozen  honey.   The  man 
wrapped  it  up  in  a 
piece  of  paper, 
-and  I  shud- 


thank  you."  Some  men  always  say,  "  Thank  you." 
And,  self-satisfied  I  went  my  way,  the  noble 
hound  (N.B. — Cross  between  a  general  mongrel 
and  a  pine  log)  following  me  unconscious  of 
his  fate. 

It  was  in  the  back-yard  that  the  deed  was  done. 
With  a  generosity  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  I  had 
brought  down  from  my  bed-room  my  own  bath — 
one  of  those  round,  shallow,  milk -pan  affairs — and 
had  filled  it  about  two  inches  deep  with  lukewarm 
water. 

Then  came  the  scratch  ;  I  use  this  word  meta- 
phorically, but  it  became  literal  before  the  operation 
was  over — as  the  paint  that  is  not  in  my  bath  can 
testify. 

I  knew  no  more  about  the  application  of  soft- 
soap  than  of  sulphur,  but  I  thought  that  I  could 
guess  how  to  use  the  former,  which  I  imagined  to 


In  the  Bath.     (Drawn  by  W.  Ralston.) 


'dered  at  the  feel  of  it,  as  I  put  it  into  my  coat-  j  be  harmless  ;  while  with  the  sulohur  I  might  have 


pocket. 

"  Thanks  —  good  morning."     "  Mornin',  sir  — 


done  it  wrong,  and  have  been  had  up  for  culpable 
canicide. 


2& 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Cook  kindly  pinned  the  sacking  cover  of  her 
travelling-box  round  me,  to  keep  off  the  splashes, 
and  provided  a  square  of  old  carpet,  folded  up 
small,  so  as  to  be  soft,  for  me  to  kneel  on. 

I  lifted  the  dog  into  the  bath,  and  held  him  by 
the  scruff,  while  he  madly  plunged,  kicked,  and 
struggled  in  his  anxiety  to  get  out,  ploughing  up 
the  bright  paint  at  the  bottom  in  long  beautiful 
furrows — four  of  them  parallel,  at  a  stroke.  To  do 
the  dog  justice,  however,  he  did  not  waste  the 
paint.  At  the  end  of  each  nail-rut  was  a  sweet 
little  coil,  all  ready  to  be  stuck  down  in  the  furrow 
again  by  any  one  who  knew  how.  I  did  not  know 
how. 

With  my  right  hand  I  applied  the  soft-soap. 
It  never  struck  me  that  it  might  act  like  ordinary 
soap  does  when  rubbed  into  hair ;  but  it  did — only 
more  so.  If  it  had  struck  me  I  might  have  been 
content  with  using  a  lump — say  about  the  size  of  a 
piece  of  mud;  but,  being  in  ignorance,  I  calmly 
and  systematically  plastered  that  dog  until  all  my 
three-penn'orth  was  gone,  and  the  faithful  beast 
looked  like  a  stuffed  brown-tabby  cat  with  its  com- 
plexion a  little  bit  faded. 

Then  the  wash  really  began.  Taking  some  water 
in  my  hand,  I  set-to  to  workup  the  soap,  commencing 
on  the  back.  At  first  there  was  no  effect,  and  my 
hand  slipiied  about  like  an  eel  spiralising  on  a 
greasy  pole — downwards.  Presently  a  tinge  of 
white  appeared,  and  gradually  spread  and  spread. 
This  was  lather.  I  think  I'll  alter  the  type  of  that 
sentence,  and  say,  "  This  tvas  latlier."  It  was  ! 
It  rose,  and  rose,  and  rose  ;  it  spread  ;  it  widened 
out ;  it  hung  down,  and  stuck  out  in  front  and 
behind  far  beyond  the  last  hairy  extremities  of 
dog.  Still  I  persevered,  and  still  the  lather  in- 
creased, till  the  four  legs  were  one  solid  pedestal  of 
white,  and  all  semblance  of  animal  shape  was  lost 
in  soap. 

Then  I  began  to  wash  the  soap  off,  but  the  more 


I  washed  it  off,  the  more  it  didn't  go.  It  only 
increased  and  thickened,  and  I  began  to  feel  dis- 
couraged. 

I  knew  the  dog  was  there — somewhere — because 
I  hadn't  seen  him  go  away ;  but  the  only  sight  I 
had  had  to  remind  me  of  him  was  one  great 
bubbling,  frothing,  hissing,  seething,  effervescent 
mass  of  lather,  which  grew  and  grew,  and  rounded 
off  at  the  cornei's,  till  it  looked  Like  a  huge,  steam- 
ing, animated  snowball. 

I  grew  more  discouraged.  I  saw  something- 
must  be  done,  or  something  else  might  happen  to 
the  dog.  Presently  a  thought  struck  me,  and  I 
hit  it  back.  I  lifted  that  mass  up,  and  carried  it 
to  the  scullery.  There  was  a  tap,  and  also  a  pump, 
over  the  sink.  Holding  the  snowball  with  the 
part  where  the  head  would  be  under  the  tap,  I 
turned  on  the  water,  and  got  cook  to  pump  on  the 
tail  part. 

The  stone  of  the  sink  was  soon  hidden  from 
sight  in  a  snowy  covering.  Presently  two  spots  of 
dog  appeared,  deep  down  in  two  chasms  of  lather. 
Then  I  grew  hopeful,  and  shifted  the  entirety  a 
bit,  so  that  more  transformation  might  ensue.  At 
last  I  was  able  to  welcome  a  considerable  portion 
of  my  old  friend,  when  I  began  to  rub  what  I  could 
see  of  him,  and  lo,  more  wliite  arose  !  This  went 
on,  and  I  finally  treated  the  dog  like  somebody 
else's  riddle,  and  gave  him  up. 

Discarding  the  box-cover,  I  sallied  forth  with 
him  into  the  wood,  and,  as  I  proceeded  towards 
the  pond  by  the  brick  kilns,  he  left  behind  him 
along  the  heather  a  bright,  glistening,  gleaming 
track,  as  if  some  gigantic  snail  had  passed  that 
way.  But  the  pond  was  reached,  and  two  masterly 
immersions  (I  say  it  with  conscious  pride)  settled 
him.     He  came  out  clean,  wet,  and  happy. 

Happy  1 — Well,  that  is,  speaking  comparatively. 


My  dog  has  got  a  cold  now  ! 


F.  W.  T. 


THE   CHEISTMAS   CHOIR. 

[Prom  "Under  the  Greenwood  Tree."    By  Thomas  Hardy.] 


^HORTLY  after  ten  o'clock,  the  singing- 
boys  arrived  at  the  tranter's  house, 
which  was  invariably  the  place  of  meet- 
ing, and  preparations  were  made  for 
the  start.  The  older  men  and  musicians 
wore  thick  coats,  with  stiff  perpendicu- 
lar collars,  and  coloured  handkerchiefs 
wound  round  and  round  the  neck  till 
the  end  came  to  hand,  over  all  which  they 
just  showed  their  ears  and  noses,  like  people 
looking  over  a  wall  The  remainder,  stalwart 
ruddy  men   and  boys,  were  mainly  dressed  in 


snow-white  smock-frocks,  embroidered  upon  the 
shoulders  and  breasts,  in  ornamental  forms  of 
hearts,  diamonds,  and  zigzags.  The  cider-mug  was 
emptied  for  the  ninth  time,  the  music-books  were 
arranged,  and  the  pieces  finally  decided  upon. 
The  boys,  in  the  mean  time,  put  the  old  horn- 
lanterns  in  order,  cut  candles  into  short  lengths  to 
fit  the  lanterns  ;  and,  a  thin  fleece  of  snow  having 
fallen  since  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  those 
who  had  no  leggings  went  to  the  stable  and  wound 
wisps  of  hay  round  their  ankles  to  keep  the  insi- 
dious flakes  from  the  interior  of  their  boots. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    CHOIR. 


29 


Old  William  Dewy,  with,  the  violoncello,  played 
the  bass ;  his  grandson  Dick  the  treble  violin ; 
and  Reuben  and  Michael  Mail  the  tenor  and 
second  violins  respectively.  The  singers  consisted 
of  four  men  and  seven  boys,  upon  whom  devolved 
the  task  of  carrying  and  attending  to  the  lanterns, 
and  holding  the  books  open  for  the  players. 
Directly  music  was  the  theme,  old  William  ever 
and  instinctively  came  to  the  front. 

"  Now  mind,  naibours,"  he  said,  as  they  all  went 
out  one  by  one  at  the  door,  he  himself  holding  it 
ajar  and  regarding  them  with  a  critical  face  as 
they  passed,  like  a  shepherd  counting  out  his 
sheep.  "  You  two  counter-boys,  keep  your  ears 
open  to  Michael's  fingering,  and  don't  ye  go  stray- 
ing into  the  treble  part  along  o'  Dick  and  his  set, 
as  ye  did  last  year ;  and  mind  this  especially  when 
we  be  in  '  Arise,  and  hail'  Billy  Chimlen,  don't 
you  sing  quite  so  raving  mad  as  you  fain  would  ; 
and,  all  o'  ye,  whatever  ye  do,  keep  from  making 
a  great  scuffle  on  the  ground  when  we  go  in  at 
people's  gates  ;  but  go  quietly,  so  as  to  strik'  up  all 
of  a  sudden,  like  spirits." 

"  Farmer  Ledlow's  first  1 " 

"  Farmer  Ledlow's  first ;  the  rest  as  usual." 

"And,  Voss,"  said  the  tranter  terminatively, 
"you  keep  house  here  till  about  half-past  two  ; 
then  heat  the  metheglin  and  cider  in  the  warmer 
you'll  find  turned  up  upon  the  copper  ;  and  bring 
it  wi'  the  victuals  to  church-porch,  as  th'st  know." 
****** 

Most  of  the  outlying  homesteads  and  hamlets 
had  been  visited  by  about  two  o'clock  :  they  then 
passed  across  the  Home  Plantation  toward  the 
main  village.  Pursuing  no  recognised  track,  great 
care  was  necessary  in  walking  lest  their  faces 
should  come  in  contact  with  the  low-hanging 
boughs  of  the  old  trees,  which  in  many  spots 
formed  dense  overgrowths  of  interlaced  branches. 

"  Times  have  changed  from  the  times  they  used 
to  be,"  said  Mail,  regarding  nobody  can  tell  what 
interesting  old  panoramas  with  an  inward  eye,  and 
letting  his  outward  glance  rest  on  the  ground, 
because  it  was  as  convenient  a  position  as  any. 
"  People  don't  care  much  about  us  now  !  I've  been 
thinking,  we  must  be  almost  the  last  left  in  the 
county  of  the  old  string  players.  Barrel-organs, 
and  they  next  door  to  'em  that  you  blow  wi'  your 
foot,  have  come  in  terribly  of  late  years." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Bowman,  shaking  his  head  ;  and 
old  William,  on  seeing  him,  did  the  same  thing. 

"  More's  the  pity,"  replied  another.  "  Time  was 
— long  and  merry  ago  now  ! — when  not  one  of  the 
varmits  was  to  be  heard  of  ;  but  it  served  some  of 
the  choirs  right.  They  should  have  stuck  to 
strings  as  we  did,  and  keep  out  clar'nets,  and  done 
away  with  serpents.  If  you'd  thrive  in  musical 
religion,  stick  to  strings,  says  L" 


"  Strings  are  well  enough,  as  far  as  that  goes," 
said  Mr.  Spinks. 

"  There's  worse  things  than  serpents,"  said  Mt. 
Penny.  "  Old  things  pass  away,  'tis  true  ;  but  a 
serpent  was  a  good  old  note  :  a  deep  rich  note  was 
the  serpent." 

"  Clar'nets,  however,  be  bad  at  all  times,"  said 
Michael  Mail  "One  Christmas — years  agone 
now,  years — I  went  the  rounds  wi'  the  Dibbeach 
choir.  'Twas  a  hard  frosty  night,  and  the  keys  of 
all  the  clar'nets  froze — ah,  they  did  freeze  ! — so 
that  'twas  like  drawing  a  cork  every  time  a  key 
was  opened ;  the  players  o'  'em  had  to  go  into  a 


hedger  and  ditcher's  chimley- comer,  and  thaw 
their  clar'nets  every  now  and  then.  An  icicle  o' 
spet  hung  down  from  the  end  of  every  man's 
clar'net  a  span  long;  and  as  to  fingers— well,  there, 
if  ye'll  believe  me,  we  had  no  fingers  at  all,  to  our 
knowledge. " 

"  I  can  well  bring  back  to  my  mind, '  said  Mr, 
Penny,  "what  I  said  to  poor  Joseph  Ryme  (whc 
took  the  tribble  part  in  High-Story  Church  for 
two-and-forty  year)  when  they  thought  of  havinc^ 
clar'nets  there.  '  Joseph,'  I  said,  says  I,  '  depend 
upon't,  if  so  be  you  have  them  tooting  clar'net* 
you'll  spoil  the  whole  set-out.  Clar'nets  were  not 
made  for  the  service  of  Providence ;  you  can  see  it 


30 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


by  looking  at  'em,'  I  said.  And  what  cam  o'tl 
Why,  my  dear  souls,  the  parson  set  up  a  barrel- 
organ  on  his  own  account  within  two  years  o'  the 
time  I  spoke,  and  the  old  choir  went  to  nothing." 

"  As  far  as  look  is  concerned,"  said  the  tranter, 
"I  don't  for  my  part  see  that  a  fiddle  is  much 
nearer  heaven  than  a  clar'net.  'Tis  farther  oif. 
There's  always  a  rakish,  scampish  countenance 
about  a  fiddle  that  seems  to  say  the  Wicked  One 
had  a  hand  in  making  o'en ;  while  angels  be 
supposed  to  play  clar'nets  in  heaven,  or  som'at  like 
'em,  if  ye  may  believe  picters." 

"Robert  Penny,  you  were  in  the  right,"  broke 
in  the  eldest  Dewy.  They  should  ha'  stuck  to 
strings.  Your  brass-man,  is  brass — well  and  good ; 
your  reed-man,  is  reed — well  and  good ;  your 
percussion-man,  is  percussion — good  again.  But 
I  don't  care  who  hears  me  say  it,  nothing  will 
speak  to  your  heart  wi'  the  sweetness  of  the  man 
of  strings  ! " 

"  Strings  for  ever  ! "  said  little  Jimmy. 

"Strings  alone  would  have  held  their  ground 
against  all  the  new  comers  in  creation."  ("  True, 
true  ! "  said  Bowman.)  "  But  clar'nets  was  death." 
("  Death  they  was  ! "  said  :Mr.  Penny.)  "  And 
harmoniums,"  William  continued  in  a  louder  voice, 
and  getting  excited  by  these  signs  of  approval, 
"  harmoniums  and  barrel-organs  "  ("  Ah  ! "  and 
groans  from  Spinks)  "  be  miserable — what  shall  I 
call  'em  1 — miserable — " 

"Sinners,"  suggested  Jimmy,  who  made  large 
strides  like  the  men,  and  did  not  lag  behind  like 
the  other  little  boys. 

"  Miserable  machines  for  such  a  divine  thing  as 
music  ! " 

"  Right,  W^illiam,  and  so  they  be  ! "  said  the 
'  choir  with  earnest  unanimity. 

By  this  time  they  were  crossing  to  a  wicket  in 
the  direction  of  the  school,  which,  standing  on  a 
slight  eminence  on  the  opposite  side  of  a  cross 
lane,  now  rose  in  unvarying  and  dark  flatness 
against  the  sky.  The  instruments  Avere  retuned, 
and  all  the  band  entered  the  enclosure,  enjoined 
by  old  William  to  keep  upon  the  grass. 

"  Number  seventy-eight,"  he  softly  gave  out,  as 
they  formed  round  in  a  semicircle,  the  boys  open- 
ing the  lanterns  to  get  a  clearer  light,  and  directing 
their  rays  on  the  books. 

Then  passed  forth  into  the  quiet  night  an 
ancient  and  well-worn  hymn. 

*  *  *  -x-  *  * 

Having  concluded  the  last  note,  they  listened 
for  a  minute  or  two,  but  found  that  no  sound 
issued  from  the  school-house. 

"  Forty  breaths,  and  then, '  O,  what  unbounded 
goodness  ! '  number  fifty-nine,"  said  William. 

This  was  duly  gone  through,  and  no  notice 
whatever  seemed  to  be  taken  of  the  performance. 

"  Surely  'tisn't  an  empty  house,  as  befell  us  in 


the  year  thirty-nine  and  forty-three  ! "  said  old 
Dewy,  with  much  disappointment. 

"  Perhaps  she's  jist  come  from  some  noble  city, 
and  sneers  at  our  doings,"  the  tranter  whispered. 

"  'Od  rabbit  her  ! "  said  Mr.  Penny,  with  ar. 
annihilating  look  at  a  corner  of  the  school 
chimney,  "  I  don't  quite  stomach  her,  if  this  is  it. 
Your  plain  music  well  done  is  as  worthy  as  your 
other  sort  done  bad,  a'  b'lieve  souls  ;  so  say  L" 

"Forty  breaths,  and  then  the  last,"  said  the 
leader  authoritatively.  "'Rejoice,  ye  tenants  of 
the  earth,'  number  sixty-four." 

At  the  close,  waiting  yet  another  minute,  he 
said  in  a  clear  loud  voice,  as  he  had  said  in  the 
village  at  that  hour  and  season  for  the  previous 
forty  years  : 

"  A  merry  Christmas  to  ye  !" 

When  the  expectant  stillness  consequent  upon 
the  exclamation  had  nearly  died  out  of  them  all, 
an  increasing  light  made  itself  visible  in  one  of 
the  windows  of  the  upper  floor.  It  came  so  close 
to  the  blind  that  the  exact  position  of  the  flame 
could  be  perceived  from  the  outside.  Remaining 
steady  for  an  instant,  the  blind  went  upward  from 
before  it,  revealing  to  thirty  concentrated  eyes  a 
young  girl,  framed  as  a  picture  by  the  window- 
architrave,  and  unconsciously  illuminating  her 
countenance  to  a  vivid  brightness  by  a  candle  she 
held  in  her  left  hand,  close  to  her  face,  her  right 
hand  being  extended  to  the  side  of  the  window. 
She  was  wrapped  in  a  white  robe  of  some  kind, 
whilst  down  her  shoulders  fell  a  twining  profusion 
of  marvellously  rich  hair,  in  a  wild  disorder  which 
proclaimed  it  to  be  only  during  the  invisible  hours 
of  the  night  that  such  a  condition  was  discover- 
able. Her  bright  eyes  were  looking  into  the  grey 
world  outside  with  an  uncertain  expression, 
oscillating  between  courage  and  shyness,  which,  as 
she  recognised  the  semicircular  group  of  dark 
forms  gathered  before  her,  transformed  itself  into 
pleasant  resolution. 

Opening  the  window,  she  said,  lightly  and 
wannly  : 

"  Thank  you,  singers,  thank  you  ! " 

Together  went  the  window  quickly  and  quietly, 
and  the  blind  started  downward  on  its  return  to 
its  place.  Her  fair  forehead  and  eyes  vanished ; 
her  little  mouth ;  her  neck  and  shoulders  ;  all  of 
her.  Then  the  spot  of  candlelight  shone  nebu- 
lously as  before  ;  then  it  moved  away. 

"  How  pretty  ! "  exclaimed  Dick  Dewy. 

"If  she'd  been  rale  wexwork  she  couldn't  ha' 
been  comelier,"  said  ^lichael  Mail. 

"  As  near  a  thing  to  a  spiritual  vision  as  ever  I 
wish  to  see  ! "  said  tranter  Dewy  fervently. 

"  O,  sich  T  never,  never  see  ! "  said  Leaf. 

All  the  rest,  after  clearing  their  throats  and 
adjusting  their  hats,  agreed  that  such  a  sight  was 
worth  singing  for. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    CHOIR. 


31 


"  Now  to  Farmer  Shinar's,  and  then  replenish 
our  insides,  father,"  said  the  tranter. 

"  Wi'  all  my  heart,"  said  old  William,  shoulder- 
ing his  bass-viol. 

Farmer  Shinar's  was  a  queer  lump  of  a  house, 
standing  at  the  corner  of  a  lane  that  ran  obliquely 
into  the  principal  thoroughfare.  The  upper 
windows  were  much  wider  than  they  were  high, 
and  this  feature,  together  with  a  broad  bay-window 
wliere  the  door  might  have  been  expected,  gave  it 
by  day  the  aspect  of  a  human  countenance  turned 
askance,  and  wearing  a  sly  and  wicked  leer.  To- 
night nothing  was  visible  but  the  outline  of  the 
roof  upon  the  sky. 

The  front  of  this  building  was  reached,  and  the 
preliminaries  arranged  as  usual. 

"  Forty  breaths,  and  number  thirty-two, — '  Be- 
hold the  morning  star,' "  said  old  William. 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  second  verse, 
and  the  fiddlers  were  doing  the  up  bow-stroke 
previously  to  pouring  forth  the  opening  chord  of 
the  third  verse,  when,  without  a  light  appearing  or 
any  signal  being  given,  a  roaring  voice  exclaimed  : 

"  Shut  up  !  Don't  make  your  blaring  row 
here.  A  feller  wi'  a  headache  enough  to  split  likes 
a  qiiiet  night." 

Slam  went  the  window. 

"  Hullo,  that's  an  ugly  blow  for  we  artists  ! " 
said  the  tranter,  in  a  keenly  appreciative  voice, 
and  turning  to  his  companions. 

"  Finish  the  carrel,  all  who  be  friends  of 
harmony  !"  said  old  William  commandiugly ;  and 
they  continued  to  the  end. 

"  Forty  breaths,  and  number  nineteen  ! "  said 
William  firmly.  ,  "  Give  it  him  well ;  the  choir 
can't  be  insulted  in  this  manner  ! " 

A  light  now  flashed  into  existence,  the  window 
opened,  and  the  farmer  stood  revealed  as  one  in  a 
terrific  passion. 

"  Drown  en  I — drown  en  !  "  the  tranter  cried, 
fiddling  fran'tically.  "  Play  fortissimy,  and  drown 
his  spaking ! " 

"  Fortissimy ! "  said  Michael  Mail,  and  the 
music  and  singing  waxed  so  loud  that  it  was 
impossible  to  know  what  Mr.  Shinar  had  said,  was 
saying,  or  was  about  to  say ;  but  wildly  flinging 
his  arms  and  body  about  in  the  form  of  capital  X's 
and  Y's,  he  appeared  to  utter  enough  invectives  to 
consign  the  whole  jiarish  to  perdition. 

"  Very  unseemly— very  !  "  said  old  William,  as 
they  retired.  "Never  such  a  dreadful  scene  in 
the  whole  round  o'  my  carrel  practice— never! 
And  he  a  churchwarden  !  " 

"  Only  a  drap  o'  drink  got  into  his  head,"  said 
the  tranter.  "  Man's  well  enough  when  he's  in  his 
religious  frame.  He's  in  his  worldly  frame  now. 
Must  ask  en  to  our  bit  of  a  party  to-morrer  night, 
I  suppose,  and  so  put  en  in  track  again.  We  bear 
no  jaartel  man  ill-wilL" 


They  now  crossed  Twenty-acres  to  proceed  to 
the  lower  village,  and  met  Voss  with  the  hot  mead 
and  bread -and -cheese  as  they  were  crossing  the 
churchyard.  This  determined  them  to  eat  and 
drink  before  proceeding  farther,  and  they  entered 
the  belfry.  The  lanterns  were  opened,  and  the 
whole  body  sat  round  against  the  walls  on  benches 
and  whatever  else  was  available,  and  made  a 
hearty  meal.  In  the  pauses  of  conversation  could 
be  heard  through  the  floor  overhead  a  little  world 
of  undertones  and  creaks  from  the  halting  clock- 
vpork,  which  never  spread  farther  than  the  towei 
they  were  born  in,  and  raised  in  the  more 
meditative  minds  a  fancy  that  here  lay  the  direct 
pathway  of  Time. 

Having  done  eating  and  drinking,  the  instru- 
ments were  again  tuned,  and  once  more  the  party 
emerged  into  the  night  air. 

"Where's  DickT'  said  old  Dewy.  . 

Every  man  looked  round  upon  every  other  man, 
as  if  Dick  might  have  been  transmuted  into  one 
or  the  other;  and  then  they  said  they  didn't 
know. 

"Well  now,  that's  what  I  caU  very  nasty 
of  Master  Dicky,  that  I  do  so,"  said  Michael 
Mail. 

"  He've  clinked  off  home-along,  depend  upon't," 
another  suggested,  though  not  quite  believing  that 
he  had. 

"  Dick !  "  exclaimed  the  tranter,  and  his  voice 
rolled  sonorously  forth  among  the  yews. 

He  suspended  his  muscles  rigid  as  stone  whilst 
listening  for  an  answer,  and  finding  he  listened  in 
vain,  turned  to  the  assemblage. 

"  The  tribble  man  too  !  Now  if  he'd  been  a 
tinner  or  counter  chap,  we  might  ha'  contrived  tho 
rest  o't  without  en,  you  see.  But  for  a  choir  to 
lose  the  tribble,  why,  my  sonnies,  you  may  so  well 
lose  your  .  ,  .  ."  The  tranter  paused,  unable  to 
mention  an  image  vast  enough  for  the  occasion. 

"  Your  head  at  once,"  suggested  Mr.  Penny. 
*  *  -x-  *  *  * 

"  Was  ever  heard  such  a  thing  as  a  young  man 
leaving  his  work  half  done  and  turning  tail  like 
this  1 " 

"  Never,"  replied  Bowman,  in  a  tone  signifying 
that  he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  wish  to 
withhold  the  formal  finish  required  of  him. 

"  I  hope  no  fatal  tragedy  has  overtook  the  lad  !* 
said  his  grandfather. 

"  O  no,"  replied  tranter  Dewy  placidly.  "  Wonder 
where  he've  put  that  there  fiddle  of  his  Why 
that  fiddle  cost  thirty  shillens,  and  good  words 
besides.  Somewhere  in  the  damp,  without  doubt ; 
that  there  instrument  will  be  unglued  and  spoilt 
in  ten  minutes — ten  !  ay,  two." 

"What  in  the  name  o'  righteousness  can  have 
happened  ? "  said  old  William,  still  more  uneasily. 

Leaving  their  lanterns  and  instruments  in  the 


32 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


belfry,  they  retraced  their  steps.  "A  strapping 
lad  like  Dick  d'know  better  than  let  anything 
happen  onawares,"  Reuben  remarked. 

♦  ♦**** 

They  had  now  again  reached  the  precincts  of  Mr. 
Shinar's,  but  hearing  nobody  in  that  direction,  one 


thrown  back,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  illuminated 
lattice. 

"Why,  Dick,  is  that  thee?  What's  doing 
here  ? " 

Dick's  body  instantly  flew  into  a  more  rational 
attitude,  and  his  head  was  seen  to  turn  east  and 


Why,  Dick,  is  that  thee  ?  "  (Drawn  by  J.  R  Reid.) 


or  two  went  across  to  the  school-house.  A  light 
was  still  burning  in  the  bedroom,  and  though  the 
blind  was  down,  the  window  had  been  slightly 
opened,  as  if  to  admit  the  distant  notes  of  the 
carollers  to  the  ears  of  the  occupant  of  the  room. 

Opposite  the  window,  leaning  motionless  against 
a  wall,  was  the  lost  man,  his  arms  folded,  his  head 


west  in  the  gloom,  as  if  endeavouring  to  discern 
some  proper  answer  to  that  question  ;  and  at  last 
he  said,  in  rather  feeble  accents, 

"Nothing,  father." 

"Th'st  take  long  enough  time  about  it  then, 
upon  my  body,"  said  the  tranter,  as  they  all  turned 
towards  the  vicarage. 


WINSTANLEY. 

A   BALLAD. 
[By  Jean  Ingelow.] 


THE  APOLOGY. 

IJOTH  the  cedar  to  the  reeds  and  rushes, 
"Water-grass,  you  know  not  what  I  do  ; 
Know  not  of  my  storms,  nor  of  my  hushes, 
And — I  know  not  you." 

Quoth  the  reeds  and  rushes,  "  Wind  !  oh  waken  ! 

Breathe,  O  wind,  and  set  our  answer  free, 
For  we  have  no  voice  of  you  iorsaken, 
For  the  cedar-tree," 


Quoth  the  earth  at  midnight  to  the  ocean, 

"  Wilderness  of  water,  lost  to  view. 
Nought  you  are  to  me  but  sounds  of  motion ; 
I  am  nought  to  you." 

Quoth  the  ocean, "  Dawn  !  O  fairest,  clearest, 

Touch  me  with  thy  golden  fingers  bland  ; 
For  I  hav3  no  smile  till  thou  appearest 
for  the  lovely  land." 


WINSTANLEY. 


33- 


Quoth  the  hero  dying,  whelmed  in  glory, 

"  Many  blame  me,  few  have  understood  ; 
Ah,  my  folk,  to  you  I  leave  a  story — 
Make  its  meaning  good." 


Quoth  the  folk,  "  Sing,  poet !  teach  us,  prove  us  ; 

Surely  we  shall  learn  the  meaning  then  : 
Wound  us  with  a  pain  divine,  O  move  us, 
For  this  man  of  men." 


'  Cast  away."     (Drawn  by  W.  H.  Overend. 


Winstanley's  deed,  you  kindly  folk. 

With  it  I  fill  my  lay, 
And  a  nobler  man  ne'er  walked  the  world, 

Let  his  name  be  what  it  may. 

The  good  ship  Snowdrop  tarried  long, 

Up  at  the  vane  looked  he  ; 
"  Belike,"  he  said,  for  the  wind  had  dropped, 

"  She  lieth  becalmed  at  sea." 

The  lovely  ladies  flocked  within. 

And  still  would  each  one  say, 
"  Good  mercer,  be  the  ships  come  up  1 " 

But  still  he  answered  "Nay." 

Then  stepped  two  mariners  down  the  street 

With  looks  of  grief  and  fear  : 
"  Now,  if  Winstanley  be  your  name, 

We  bring  you  evil  cheer  ! 

"  For  the  good  ship  Snowdro])  struck — she  struck 

On  the  rock — the  Eddystone, 
And  down  she  went  with  threescore  men, 

We  two  being  left  alone. 

"  Down  in  the  deep,  with  freight  and  crew, 

Past  any  help  she  lies. 
And  never  a  bale  has  come  to  shore 

Of  all  thy  merchandise." 

"  For  cloth  o'  gold  and  comely  frieze," 

Winstanley  said,  and  sighed, 
"For  velvet  coif,  or, costly  coat, 

They  fathoms  deep  may  bide. 


"  0  thou  brave  skipper,  blithe  and  kind, 

0  mariners  bold  and  true. 
Sorry  at  heart,  right  sorry  am  I, 

A-thinking  of  yours  and  you. 

"  Many  long  days  Winstanley's  breast 

Shall  feel  a  weight  within, 
For  a  waft  of  wind  he  shall  be  'feared 

And  trading  count  but  sin. 

"  To  him  no  more  it  shall  be  joy 

To  pace  the  cheerful  town. 
And  see  the  lovely  ladies  gay 

Step  on  in  velvet  gown." 

The  Snowdrop  sank  at  Lammas  tide, 

All  under  the  yeasty  spray  ; 
On  Christmas  Eve  the  brig  Content 

Was  also  cast  away. 

He  little  thought  o'  New  Year's  night. 

So  jolly  as  he  sat  then. 
While  drank  the  toast  and  praised  the  roast 

The  round-faced  aldermen, — 

While  serving  lads  ran  to  and  fro. 

Pouring  the  ruby  wine. 
And  jellies  trembled  on  the  board, 

And  towering  pasties  fine, — 

While  loud  huzzas  ran  up  the  roof 
Till  the  lamps  did  rock  o'erhead, 

And  holly  boughs  from  rafters  hung 
Dropped  down  their  berries  red, 


GLEANINGS   FROM    POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


He  little  thought  on  Plymouth  Hoe, 

With  every  rising  tide, 
How  the  wave  washed  in  his  sailor  lads, 

And  laid  them  side  by  side. 

There  stepped  a  stranger  to  the  boax'd  : 

"  Now,  stranger,  who  be  ye  1 " 
He  looked  to  right,  he  looked  to  left, 

And  "  Rest  you  merry,"  quoth  he  ; 

"  For  you  did  not  see  the  brig  go  down, 

Or  ever  a  storm  had  blown  ; 
For  you  did  not  see  the  white  wave  rear 

At  the  rock — the  Eddystone. 

''  She  drave  at  the  rock  with  stem- sails  set ; 

Crash  went  the  masts  in  twain  ; 
She  staggered  back  with  her  mortal  blow. 

Then  leaped  at  it  again. 

"  There  rose  a  great  cr>-,  bitter  and  strong. 

The  misty  moon  looked  out ! 
And  the  water  swaimed  with  seamen's  heads. 

And  the  wreck  was  strewed  about. 

"  I  saw  her  mainsail  lash  the  sea 

As  I  clung  to  the  rock  alone  ; 
Then  she  heeled  over,  and  down  she  went. 

And  sank  like  any  stone. 

"  She  was  a  fair  ship,  but  all's  one  ! 

For  nought  could  bide  the  shock." 
"  I  will  take  horse,"  Winstanley  said, 

"  And  see  this  deadly  rock." 

"  For  never  again  shall  barque  o'  mine 

Sail  over  the  windy  sea. 
Unless,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  for  this 

Be  found  a  remedy." 

Winstanley  rode  to  Plymouth  town 

All  in  the  sleet  and  the  snow, 
And  he  looked  around  on  shore  and  sound 

As  he  stood  on  Plymouth  Hoe. 

Till  a  pillar  of  spray  rose  far  away. 

And  shot  up  its  stately  head, 
Reared  and  fell  over,  and  reared  again: 

" 'Tis  the  rock!  the  rock  ! "  he  said. 

Straight  to  the  mayor  he  took  his  way, 
"  Good  Master  Mayor,"  quoth  he, 

"  I  am  a  mercer  of  London  tow-n. 
And  owner  of  vessels  three, — 

"  But  for  your  rock  of  dark  renown, 

I  had  five  to  track  the  main." 
"You  are  one  of  many,"  the  old  mayor  said, 

^  That  of  the  rock  complain. 


"An  ill  rock,  mercer  !   your  Avords  ring  right, 
Well  with  my  thoughts  they  chime. 

For  my  two  sons  to  the  world  to  come 
It  sent  before  their  time." 

*'  Lend  me  a  lighter,  good  Master  ]SIayor, 
And  a  score  of  shipwrights  free, 

For  I  think  to  raise  a  lantern  tower 
On  this  rock  of  destiny." 

The  old  mayor  laughed,  but  sighed  also  ; 

"Ah,  youtli,"  quoth  he,  "  is  rash  ; 
Sooner,  young  man,  thou'lt  root  it  out 

From  the  sea  that  doth  it  lash. 

"  Who  sails  too  near  its  jagged  teeth. 

He  shall  have  evil  lot ; 
•For  the  calmest  seas  that  tumble  there 

Froth  like  a  boiling  pot. 

"  And  the  heavier  seas  few  look  on  nigh. 
But  straight  they  lay  him  dead  ; 

A  seventy-gun  .ship,  sir  !— they'll  shoot 
Higher  than  her  masthead. 

"  O,  beacons  sighted  in  the  dark. 

They  are  right  welcome  things. 
And  pitchpots  flaming  on  the  shore 

Show  fair  as  angel  wings. 

'•  Hast  gold  in  hand  1  then  light  the  land. 

It  'longs  to  thee  and  me  ; 
But  let  alone  the  deadly  rock 

In  God  Almighty's  sea." 

Yet  said  he,  "  Nay — I  must  away, 

On  the  rock  to  set  my  feet ; 
My  debts  are  paid,  my  will  I  made. 

Or  ever  I  did  thee  greet. 

"  If  I  must  die,  then  let  me  die 
By  the  rock  and  not  elsewhere ; 

If  I  may  live,  Oh,  let  me  live 
To  mount  my  lighthouse  stair!" 

The  old  mayor  looked  him  in  the  face, 
And  answered, ''  Have  thy  way  ; 

Thy  heart  is  stout,  as  if  round  about 
It  was  braced  with  an  iron  stay  : 

'•Have  thy  will,  mercer!  choose  thy  men. 
Put  off  from  the  storm-rid  shore  : 

God  with  thee  be,  or  I  shall  see 
Thy  face  and  theirs  no  more." 

Heavily  plunged  the  breaking  wave. 

And  foam  flew  up  the  lea. 
Morning  and  even  the  drifted  snow 

Fell  into  the  dark  grey  sea. 


WINSTANLEY. 


35 


Winstanley  chose  him  men  and  gear  ; 

He  said,  "  My  time  I  waste," 
For  the  seas  ran  seething  up  the  shore, 

And  the  wrack  drave  on  in  haste. 

But  twenty  days  he  waited  and  more, 

Pacing  the  strand  alone, 
Or  ever  he  set  his  manly  foot 

On  the  rock — the  Eddystone. 

Then  he  and  the  sea  began  their  strife. 
And  worked  with  power  and  might : 

Whatever  the  man  reared  up  by  day 
The  sea  broke  down  by  night. 

He  wrought  at  ebb  with  bar  and  beam, 

He  sailed  to  shore  at  flow  ; 
And  at  his  side  by  that  same  tide. 

Came  bar  and  beam  also. 

'*  Give  in,  give  in,"  the  old  mayor  cried, 

"Or  thou  wilt  rue  the  day." 
■"  Yonder  he  goes,"  the  townsfolk  sighed ; 

"  But  the  rock  will  have  its  way. 

■"  For  all  his  looks  that  are  so  stout. 

And  his  speeches  bravo  and  fair, 
He  may  wait  on  the  wind,  wait  ou  the  wave, 

But  he'll  build  no  lighthouse  there." 

In  fine  weather  and  foul  weather 

The  rock  his  arts  did  flout. 
Through  the  long  days  and  the  short  days. 

Till  all  that  year  ran  out. 

With  fine  weather  and  foul  weather 

Another  year  came  in  : 
"  To  take  his  wage,"  the  workmen  said, 

"We  almost  count  a  sin." 

Now  March  was  gone,  came  April  in, 

And  a  sea-fog  settled  down. 
And  forth  sailed  he  on  a  glassy  sea. 

He  sailed  from  Plymouth  town. 

With  men  and  stores  he  put  to  sea. 

As  he  was  wont  to  do  ; 
They  showed  in  the  fog  like  ghosts  full  faint— 

A  ghostly  craft  and  crew. 

And  the  sea-fog  lay  and  wax'd  alway 

For  a  long  eight  days  and  more  ; 
"  God  help  our  men,"  quoth  the  women  then  ; 

"  For  they  bide  long  from  shore." 

They  paced  the  Hoe  in  doubt  and  dread  : 

"  Where  may  our  mariners  be  1 " 
But  the  brooding  fog  lay  soft  as  down 

Over  the  quiet  sea. 


A  Scottish  schooner  made  the  port, 

The  thirteenth  day  at  e'en  : 
"As  I  am  man,"  the  captain  cried, 

"  A  strange  sight  I  have  seen  : 

"  And  a  strange  sound  heard,  my  masters  all, 

At  sea,  in  the  fog  and  the  rain. 
Like  shipwrights'  hammers  tapping  low, 

Then  loud,  then  Ioav  again. 

"  And  a  stately  house  one  instant  showed 
Through  a  rift  on  the  vessel's  lee  ; 

What  manner  of  creatures  may  be  those 
That  build  upon  the  sea  ]  " 

Then  sighed  the  folk,  "  The  Lord  be  praised! " 
And  they  flocked  to  the  shore  amain  ; 

All  over  the  Hoe  that  livelong  night 
Many  stood  out  in  the  rain. 

It  ceased,  and  the  red  sun  reared  his  head, 

And  the  rolling  fog  did  flee  ; 
And,  lo !  in  the  offing  faint  and  far 

Winstanley's  house  at  sea  ! 

In  fair  weather  with  mirth  and  cheer 

The  stately  tower  uprose  ; 
In  foul  weather,  with  hunger  and  cold, 

They  were  content  to  close  ; 

Till  up  the  stair  Winstanley  went, 

To  fire  the  wick  afar  ; 
And  Plymouth  in  the  silent  night 

Looked  out  and  saw  her  star. 

Winstanley  set  his  foot  ashore  : 

Said  he,  "  My  work  is  done  ; 
1  hold  it  strong  to  last  as  long 

As  aught  beneath  the  sun. 

"  But  if  it  fail,  as  fail  it  may. 

Borne  down  with  ruin  and  rout, 
Another  than  I  shall  rear  it  high. 

And  brace  the  girders  stout. 

"  A  better  than  I  shall  rear  it  high, 

For  now  the  way  is  plain. 
And  tho'  I  were  dead,"  Winstanley  said, 

"  The  light  would  shine  again. 

"  Yet,  were  I  fain  still  to  remain, 

Watch  in  my  tower  to  keep. 
And  tend  my  light  in  the  stormiest  night 

That  ever  did  move  the  deep  ; 

"  And  if  it  stood,  why  then  'twere  good. 

Amid  their  tremulous  stirs, 
To  count  each  stroke  when  the  mad  waves  broke 

For  cheers  of  mariners. 


36 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  But  if  it  fell,  then  this  were  well, 

That  I  should  with  it  fall ; 
Since,  for  my  part,  I  have  built  my  heart 

In  the  courses  of  its  wall. 

"  Ay  !  I  were  fain  long  to  remain, 

Watch  in  my  tower  to  keep, 
And  tend  my  light  in  the  stormiest  night 

That  ever  did  move  the  deep." 

With  that  Winstanley  went  his  way, 

And  left  the  rock  renowned, 
And  sumnipr  and  winter  his  pilot  star 

Hung  bright  o'er  Plymouth  Sound. 

But  it  fell  out,  fell  out  at  last, 

That  he  would  put  to  sea, 
To  scan  once  more  his  lighthouse  tower 

On  the  rock  o'  destiny. 


And  the  winds  woke,  and  the  storm  broke, 

And  wrecks  came  plunging  in  ; 
None  in  the  town  that  night  lay  down, 

Or  sleep  or  rest  to  win. 

The  great  mad  waves  were  rolling  graves, 

And  each  flung  up  its  dead  ; 
The  seething  flow  was  white  below, 

And  black  the  sky  o'erhead. 

And  when  the  dawn,  the  dull  grey  dawn, — 

Broke  on  the  trembling  town. 
And  men  looked  south  to  the  harbour  mouth. 

The  lighthouse  tower  was  down. 

Down  in  the  deep  he  doth  sleep 

Who  made  it  shine  afar. 
And  then  in  the  night  that  droM'ned  its  light, 

Set,    with    his 
pilot  star. 


Many  fair  tombs  in  the  glorious  glooms 

At  Westminster  they  show ; 
The  brave  and  the  gi-eat  lie  there  in  state  : 

Winstanley  lieth  low. 


'  On  the  £ock  of  Destint."    (Drawn  by  W.  H.  Overead.) 


RIP     VAN     WINKLE. 

[By  Washington  Irting.] 


?HERE  lived,  many  years  since,  while 
America  was  yet  a  province  of  Great 
Britain,  a  simple,  good-natured  fellow, 
of  the  name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He 
was  a  simple,  good-natured  man;  he 
was  moreover  a  kind  neighbour,  and  an 
obedient  henpecked  husband. 
Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favourite  among 
all  the  good  wives  of  the  village,  who,  as  usual 
with  the  amiable  sex,  took  his  part  in  all  family 
squabbles,  and  never  failed,  whenever  they  talked 
those  matters  over  in  their  evening  gossipings,  to 


lay  all  the  blame  on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The 
children  of  the  village,  too,  would  shout  with  joy 
whenever  he  approached.  He  assisted  at  their 
sports,  made  their  playthings,  taught  them  to  fly 
kites  and  shoot  marbles,  and  told  them  long  stories 
of  ghosts,  witches,  and  Indians.  Whenever  he 
went  dodging  about  the  village,  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  troop  of  them,  hanging  on  his  skirts,  clamber- 
ing on  his  back,  and  playing  a  thousand  tricks  on 
him  with  impunity  ;  and  not  a  dog  would  bark  at 
him  throughout  the  neighbourhood. 
The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  in- 


RIP   VAN   WINKLE. 


37 


superable  aversion  to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labour. 
It  could  not  be  for  the  want  of  assiduity  or  perse- 
verance ;  for  he  would  sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod 
as  long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all 
day  without  a  murmur,  even  though  he  should  not 
be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.  He  would  carry 
a  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder  for  hours  together, 
trudging  through  woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a  few  squirrels  or  wild 
pigeons.  He  would  never  even  refuse  to  assist  a 
neighbour  in  t'le  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost 


point  of  setting  in  just  as  he  had  some  out-door 
work  to  do.  So  that  though  his  patrimonial  estate 
had  dwindled  away  under  his  management,  acre  by 
acre,  until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere 
patch  of  Indian  corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the 
worst-conditioned  farm  in  the  neighbourhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if 
they  belonged  to  nobody.  His  son  Rip,  an  urchin 
begotten  in  his  own  likeness,  promised  to  inherit 
the  habits,  with  the  old  clothes,  of  his  father.  He 
was  generally  seen  trooping  like  a  colt  at  his 


"A  Melancholy  Party  of  Pleasure." 


man  at  all  country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn 
or  building  stone  fences ;  the  women  of  the  village, 
too,  used  to  employ  him  to  run  their  errands,  and 
to  do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less  obliging 
husbands  would  not  do  for  them  ;  -in  a  word.  Rip 
was  ready  to  attend  to  anybody's  business  but  his 
own  ;  but  as  to  doing  family  duty  and  keeping  his 
farm  in  order,  it  was  impossible. 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  no  use  to  work  on  his 
farm ;  it  was  the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of 
ground  in  the  whole  country  ;  everything  about  it 
went  wrong,  and  would  go  wrong  in  spite  of  him. 
His  fences  were  continually  falling  to  pieces ;  his 
cow  would  either  go  astray,  or  get  among  the 
cabbages  ;  weeds  Avere  sure  to  grow  quicker  in  his 
fields  than  anywhere  else  ;  the  rain  always  made  a 


mother's  heels,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his  father's 
cast-off  galligaskins,  which  he  had  much  ado  to 
hold  up  with  one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does  her  train 
in  bad  weather. 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf, 
who  was  as  much  henpecked  as  his  master ;  for 
Dame  Van  Winkle  regarded  them  as  companions 
in  idleness,  and  even  looked  upon  Wolf  with  an 
evil  eye  as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often 
astray.  True  it  is,  in  all  points  of  spirit  befitting 
an  honourable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  animal 
as  ever  scoured  the  woods — but  what  courage  can 
withstand  the  ever-during  and  all-besetting  terrors 
of  a  woman's  tongue  1  The  moment  Wolf  entered 
the  house,  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  dropped  to  the 
ground  or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked 


38 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


about  with  a  gallows  air,  casting  many  a  sidelong 
glance  at  Dame  Van  Winkle,  and,  at  the  least 
flourish  of  a  broomstick  or  ladle,  would  flee  to  the 
door  with  yelping  precipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van 
Winkle  as  years  of  matrimony  rolled  on ;  a  tart 
temper  never  mellows  with  age,  and  a  sharp  tongue 
is  the  only  edge-tool  that  grows  keener  by  constant 
use.  For  a  long  while  he  used  to  console  himself, 
when  driven  from  home,  by  frequenting  a  kind  of 
perpetual  club  of  the  sages,  philosophers,  and  other 
idle  pei"sonages  of  the  village,  that  held  its  sessions 
on  a  bench  before  a  small  inn,  designated  by  a 
rubicund  portrait  of  his  Majesty  George  III. 
Here  they  used  to  sit  in  the  shade,  of  a  long  lazy 
summer "s  day,  talk  listlessly  over  village  gossip,  or 
tell  endless  sleepy  stories  about  nothing.  But  it 
would  have  been  worth  any  statesman's  money  to 
have  heard  the  profound  discussions  that  sometimes 
took  place,  when  by  chance  an  old  newspaper  fell 
into  their  hands  from  some  passing  traveller.  How 
solemnly  they  would  listen  to  the  contents,  as 
drawled  out  by  Derrick  Van  Bummel,  the  school- 
master, a  dapper,  learned  little  man,  who  was  not 
to  be  daunted  by  the  most  gigantic  word  in  the 
dictionary  ;  and  how  sagely  they  would  deliberate 
upon  public  events  some  months  after  they  had 
taken  place. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair  ; 
and  his  only  alternative  to  escape  from  the  labour 
of  the  farm  and  the  clamour  of  his  wife  was  to 
take  gun  in  hand  and  stroll  away  into  the  woods. 
Here  he  would  sometimes  seat  himself  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree  and  share  the  contents  of  his  wallet  with 
Wolf,  with  whom  he  sympathised  as  a  fellow- 
sufferer  in  persecution.  "Poor  Wolf,"  he  woiUd 
say,  "  thy  mistress  leads  thee  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  but 
never  mind,  my  lad,  whilst  I  live  thou  shalt  never 
want  a  friend  to  stand  by  thee  ! "  Wolf  would 
wag  his  tail,  look  wistfully  in  his  master's  face,  and 
if  dogs  can  feel  pity,  I  verily  believe  he  recipro- 
cated the  sentiment  with  all  his  heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind  on  a  fine  autumnal 
day.  Rip  had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of 
the  highest  parts  of  the  Kaatskill  Mountains.  He 
was  after  his  favourite  sport  of  squirrel-shooting, 
and  the  still  solitudes  had  echoed  and  re-echoed 
with  the  reports  of  his  gun.  Panting  and  fatigued, 
he  threw  himself,  late  in  the  afternoon,  on  a  green 
knoll,  covered  with  mountain  herbage,  that  crowned 
the  brow  of  a  precipice. 

For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing ;  evening  was 
gradually  advancing,  the  mountains  began  to  throw 
their  long  blue  shadows  over  the  valleys,  he  saw 
that  it  would  be  dark  long  before  he  could  reach 
the  village,  and  he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh  when  he 
thought  of  encountering  the  terrors  of  Dame  Van 
Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend,  he  heard  a  voice 


from  a  distance,  hallooing,  "  Rip  Van  W  inkle  ! 
Rip  Van  Winkle  !  "  He  looked  around,  but 
could  see  nothing  but  a  crow  winging  its  soli- 
tary flight  across  the  mountain.  He  thought 
his  fancy  must  have  deceived  him,  and  turned 
again  to  descend,  when  lie  heard  the  same 
cry  ring  through  the  still  evening  air  :  "  Rip  Van 
Winkle  !  Rip  Van  AVinkle  ! " — at  the  same  timt' 
Wolf  bristled  up  his  back,  and  giving  a  low  growl, 
skulked  to  his  master's  side,  looking  fearfully  down 
into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a  vague  apprehension 
stealing  over  him  ;  he  looked  down  anxiously  in 
the  same  direction,  and  perceived  a  sti'ange  figure 
slowly  toiling  up  the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the 
weight  of  something  he  carried  on  his  back.  He 
was  surprised  to  see  any  human  being  in  this 
lonely  and  unfrequented  i)lace,  but  supposing  it  to 
be  some  one  of  the  neighbourhood  in  need  of  his 
assistance,  he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach  he  was  still  more  surprised 
at  the  singularity  of  the  stranger's  appearance.  He 
was  a  short,  square-built  old  fellow,  with  thick, 
bushy  hair  and  a  grizzled  beard.  His  dress  was  of 
the  antique  Dutch  fashion— a  cloth  jerkin  strapped 
round  the  waist — sevenxl  pairs  of  breeches,  the 
outer  one  of  ample  volume,  decorated  with  rows 
of  buttons  down  the  sides  and  bunches  at  the 
knees.  He  bore  on  his  shoulder  a  stout  keg,  that 
seemed  full  of  liquor,  and  made  signs  for  Rip  to 
approach  and  assist  him  with  the  load.  Though 
rather  shy  and  distrustful  of  this  new  acquaintance, 
Rip  complied  with  his  usual  alacrity,  and, 
mutually  relieving  each  other,  they  clambered  up 
a  narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dry  bed  of  a  mountain 
torrent.  As  they  ascended.  Rip  every  now  and 
then  heard  long,  rolling  peals,  like  distant  thunder, 
that  seemed  to  issue  out  of  a  deep  ravine,  or  rather 
cleft  between  lofty  rocks,  toward  which  their 
rugged  path  conducted.  He  paused  for  an  instant, 
but  supposing  it  to  be  the  muttering  of  one  of 
those  transient  thunder  showers  which  often  take 
place  in  mountain  heights,  he  proceeded.  Passing 
through  the  ravine,  they  came  to  a  hollow,  like  a 
small  amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  perpendicular 
precipices,  over  the  brinks  of  which  impending 
trees  shot  their  branches,  so  that  you  only  caught 
glimpses  of  the  azure  sky  and  the  bright  evening 
cloud.  During  the  whole  time,  Rip  and  his  com- 
panion had  laboured  on  in  silence  ;  for  though  the 
former  marvelled  greatly  what  could  be  the  object 
of  carrying  a  keg  of  liquor  up  this  wild  mountain, 
yet  there  was  something  strange  and  incomprehen- 
sible about  the  unknown  that  inspired  awe  and 
checked  familiarity. 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of 
wonder  presented  themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in 
the  centre  was  a  company  of  odd-looking  personages 
playing  at  nine-pins.  They  were  dressed  in  a 
quaint    outlandish    fashion  :    some    wore    short 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


39 


doublets,  others  jerkins,  with  long  knives  in  their 
belts,  and  most  of  them  had  enormous  breeches, 
of  similar  style  with  those  of  the  guide.  Their 
visages,  too,  were  peculiar  :  one  had  a  large  head, 
broad  face,  and  small  piggish  eyes ;  the  face  of 
another  seemed  to  consist  entirely  of  nose,  and 
was  surmounted  by  a  white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off 
with  a  little  red  cockstail.  They  all  had  beards,  of 
various  shapes  and  colours.  There  was  one  who 
seemed  to  be  the  commander.  He  was  a  stout,  old 
gentleman,  with  a  weather-beaten  countenance ;  he 
wore  a  laced  doublet,  broad  belt,  and  hanger,  high- 
crowned  hat  and  feather,  red  stockings  and  high- 
heeled  shoes,  with  roses  in  them.  The  whole  group 
reminded  Rip  of  the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish 
painting  in  the  parlour  of  Dominie  Van  Schaick, 
the  village  f)arson,  and  which  had  been  brought 
over  from  Holland  at  the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip  was,  that 
though  these  folks  Avere  evidently  amusing  them- 
selves, yet  they  maintained  the  gravest  faces,  the 
most  mysterious  silence,  and  were,  withal,  the  most 
melancholy  party  of  pleasure  he  had  ever  wit- 
nessed. Nothing  interrupted  the  stillness  of  the 
scene  but  the  noise  of  the  balls,  which,  whenever 
they  were  rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like 
rumbling  peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them, 
they  suddenly  desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared 
at  him  with  such  fixed  statue-like  gaze,  and  such 
strange,  uncouth,  lack-lustre  countenances,  that  his 
heart  turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote  to- 
gether. His  companion  now  emptied  the  contents 
of  the  keg  into  large  flagons  and  made  signs  to  him 
to  wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed  with  fear 
and  trembling ;  they  quaffed  the  liquor  in  profound 
silence,  and  then  returned  to  their  game. 

By  degrees  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  subsided. 
He  even  ventured,  when  no  eye  was  fixed  upon 
him,  to  taste  the  beverage,  which  he  found  had 
much  of  the  flavour  of  excellent  Hollands.  He 
was  naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon  tempted 
to  repeat  the  draught.  One  taste  provoked  another, 
and  he  reiterated  his  visits  to  the  flagon  so  often, 
that  at  length  his  senses  were  overpowered,  his 
eyes  swam  in  his  head,  his  head  gradually  declined, 
and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

On  awaking  he  found  himself  on  the  green  knoll 
from  whence  he  had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the 
glen.  He  rubbed  his  eyes — it  was  a  bright  sunny 
morning.  The  birds  were  hopping  and  twittering 
among  the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was  wheeling 
aloft,  and  breasting  the  pure  mountain  breeze. 
"  Surely,"  thought  Rip,  "  I  have  not  slept  here  all 
night."  He  recalled  the  occurrences  before  he  fell 
asleep.  The  strange  man  with  the  keg  of  liquor — 
the  mountain  ravine — the  wild  retreat  among  the 
rocks — the  woebegone  party  at  nine-pins — the 
flagon—"  Oh  !  that  flagon  !  that  wicked  flagon  !  " 


thought  Rip— "what  excuse  shall  I  make  to  Dame 
Van  Winkle?" 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  of  the 
clean  well-oiled  fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  fire- 
lock lying  by  him,  the  barrel  encrusted  with  rust, 
the  lock  falling  off",  and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He 
now  suspected  that  the  grave  roysterers  of  the 
mountain  had  put  a  trick  upon  him,  and  having 
dosed  him  with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his  gun. 
Wolf,  too,  had  disappeared,  but  he  might  have 
strayed  away  after  a  squirrel  or  partridge.  He 
whistled  after  him  and  shouted  his  name,  but  all 
in  vain ;  the  echoes  repeated  his  whistle  and  shout, 
but  no  dog  was  to  be  seen. 

As  he  approached  the  village  he  met  a  number 
of  people,  but  none  whom  he  knew,  which  some- 
what surprised  him,  for  he  had  thought  himself 
acquainted  with  every  one  in  the  country  round. 
Their  dress,  too,  was  of  a  different  fashion  from 
that  to  which  he  was  accustomed.  They  all  stared 
at  him  with  equal  marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever 
they  cast  eyes  upon  him,  invariably  stroked  their 
chins.  The  constant  recurrenoe  of  this  gesture 
induced  Rip,  involuntarily,  to  do  the  same,  when 
'  to  his  astonishment  he  found  his  beard  had  grown 
a  foot  long  ! 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A 
troop  of  strange  children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting 
after  him,  and  pointing  at  his  grey  beard.  The 
,  too,  not  one  of  which  he  recognised  for  an 


old  aciiuaintance,  barked  at  him  as  he  passed.  The 
very  village  was  altered;  it  was  larger  and  more 
populous.  There  were  rows  of  houses  which  he 
had  never  seen  before,  and  those  which  had  teen 
his  familiar  haunts  had  disappeared.  Strange 
names  were  over  the  doors — strange  faces  at  the 
windows — everything  was  strange.  His  mind  now 
misgave  him  ;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he 
and  the  world  around  him  were  not  bewitched. 
Surely  this  was  his  native  village,  which  he  had 
left  but  the  day  before.  There  stood  the  Kaatskill 
Mountains— there  ran  the  silver  Hudson  at  a  dis- 
tance— there  was  every  hill  and  dale  precisely  as 
it  had  always  been — Rip  was  sorely  perplexed — 
"  That  flagon  last  night,"  thought  he,  "  has  addled 
my  poor  head  sadly  ! " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the 
way  to  his  own  house,  which  he  approached  with 
silent  awe,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the 
shrill  voice  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  He  found  the 
house  gone  to  decay — the  roof  fallen  in,  the  windows 
shattered,  and  the  doors  off  the  hinges.  A  half- 
starved  dog  that  looked  like  Wolf  was  skulking 
about  it.  Rip  called  him  by  name,  but  the  cur 
snarled,  showed  his  teeth,  and  passed  on.  This 
was  an  unkind  cut  indeed.  "  My  very  dog,"  sighed 
poor  Rip,  "  has  forgotten  me  ! " 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth. 
Dame  Van  Winkle  had  always  kept  in  neat  order. 


40 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


It  was  empty,  forlorn,  and  apparently  abandoned. 
This  desolateness  overcame  all  his  connubial  fears 
— he  called  loudly  for  his  wife  and  children — the 
lonely  chambers  rung  for  a  moment  with  his  voice, 
and  then  all  again  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth  and  hastened  to  his  old 
resort,  the  village  inn ;  but  it  too  was  gone.  A 
large  rickety  wooden  building  stood  in  its  place, 
with  great  gaping  windows,  some  of  them  broken, 
and  mended  with  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over 
the  door  was  painted — "The  Union   Hotel,   by 


beard,  his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress, 
and  the  army  of  women  and  childreu  that  had 
gathered  at  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  tavern  politicians  ;  and  a  short  but  busy 
little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the  arm,  and  rising  on 
tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear,  "whether  he  was  Federal 
or  Democrat] "  Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  com- 
prehend the  question,  when  a  knowing  self-im- 
portant old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp  cocked  hat,  made 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to  the 
right  and  left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and 


Eip  Va»  Winkle's  EETUSif. 


Jonathan  Doolittle."  Instead  of  the  great  tree 
that  used  to  shelter  the  quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of 
yore,  there  now  was  reared  a  tall  naked  pole,  with 
something  on  the  top  that  looked  like  a  red  night- 
cap, and  from  it  was  fluttering  a  flag,  on  which  was 
a  singular  assemblage  of  stars  and  stripes — all  this 
was  strange  and  incomprehensible.  He  recognised 
on  the  sign,  however,  the  ruby  face  of  King  George, 
under  which  he  had  smoked  so  many  a  peaceful 
pipe  ;  but  even  this  was  singularly  metamorphosed. 
The  red  coat  was  changed  for  one  of  blue  and  buff", 
a  sword  was  held  in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre, 
the  head  was  decorated  with  a  cocked  hat,  and 
underneath  was  painted  in  large  characters,  General 
Washington. 
.  The  appearance  of  Rip,  vsdth  his  long  grizzled 


planting  himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm 
akimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen  eyes 
and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very 
soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "What  brought 
him  to  the  election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and 
a  mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to  breed 
a  riot  in  the  village  "i  " — "Alas  !  gentlemen,"  cried 
Rip,  somewhat  dismayed,  "I  am  a  poor  quiet  man, 
a  native  of  the  place,  and  a  loyal  svibject  of  the 
king,  God  bless  him  !  " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  bystanders 
— "A  tory  !  a  tory  !  a  spy  !  a  refugee  !  hustle  him  ! 
away  with  him  ! "  It  was  with  great  difficulty 
that  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat 
restored  order;  and  having  assumed  a  tenfold 
austerity  of  brow,  demanded  again  of  the  unknown 


RIP   VAN    WINKLE. 


41 


culprit  what  he  came  there  for,  and  whom  he  was 
seeking "?  The  poor  man  humbly  assured  him  that 
be  meant  no  harm,  but  merely  came  there  in  search 
of  some  of  his  neighbours,  who  used  to  keep  about 
the  tavern. 

"Well — who  are  theyl  name  them." 

Eip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired, 
"Where's  Nicholas  Vedder  1 " 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an 
old  man  replied,  in  a  thin  piping  voice,  "  Nicholas 
Vedder  ]  why  he  is  dead  and  gone  these  eighteen 
years !  There  was  a  wooden  tombstone  in  the 
churchyard  that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's 
rotted  and  gone  too." 

"  Where's  Brom  Butcher  1 " 

"  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning 
of  the  war  ;  some  say  he  wa."  killed  at  the  storm- 
ing of  Stoney-Point,  others  Sc^y  he  was  drowned 
in  a  squall  at  the  foot  of  Antonj'^'s  Nose.  I  don't 
know,  he  never  came  back  again.' 

"  Where's  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster  1 " 

"  He  went  oif  to  the  wars  too,  vds,  a  great 
militia  general,  and  is  now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away  at  hearing  of  these  sad 
changes  in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding 
himself  thus  alone  in  the  world.  Every  answer 
puzzled  him,  too,  by  treating  of  such  enormous 
lapses  of  time,  and  of  matters  which  he  could  not 
understand  :  war — congress — Stoney  -  Point ; — he 
had  no  courage  to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but 
cried  out  in  despair,  "  Does  nobody  here  know 
Rip  Van  Winkle  1  " 

"Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle  ! "  exclaimed  two  or  three, 
"  Oh,  to  be  sure  !  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder, 
leaning  against  the  tree." 

Rip  looked  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of 
himself,  as  he  went  up  the  mountain  :  apparently 
as  lazy,  and  certainly  as  ragged .  The  poor  fellow 
was  now  completely  confounded.  He  doubted  his 
own  identity,  and  whether  he  was  himself  or 
another  man.  In  the  midst  of  his  bewilderment 
the  man  in  the  cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was, 
and  what  was  his  name  1 

"  God  knows  !  "  exclaimed  he  at  his  wit's  end  ; 
"I'm  not  myself— I'm  somebody  else— that's  me 
yonder — no — that's  somebody  else  got  into  my 
shoes — I  was  myself  last  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on 
the  mountain,  and  they've  changed  my  gun,  and 
everything's  changed  and  I  am  changed,  and  I 
can't  tell  what's  my  name,  or  who  I  am  ! " 

The  bystanders  began  now  to  look  at  each  other, 
nod,  wink  significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against 
their  foreheads.  There  was  a  whisper  also  about 
securing  the  gun,  and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from 
doing  mischief,  at  the  very  suggestion  of  which 
the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked  hat  retired 
with  some  precipitation.  At  this  critical  moment 
a  fresh  comely  woman  pressed  through  the  throng 


to  get  a  peep  at  the  grey-bearded  man.  She  had 
a  chubby  child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at 
his  looks,  began  to  cry.  "  Hush,  Rip,"  cried  she, 
"hush,  you  little  fool,  the  old  man  won't  hurt 
you."  The  name  of  the  child,  the  air  of  the 
mother,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  all  awakened  a  train 
of  recollections  in  his  mind.  "  What  is  your  name, 
my  good  woman  ]  "  asked  fie. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"And  your  father's  uamsl  " 

"  Ah,  poor  man,  his  name  was  Rip  Van  Winkle ; 
it's  twenty  years  since  he  went  away  from  home 
with  his  gun  and  never  has  been  heard  of  since— 
his  dog  came  home  without  him ;  but  whether  he 
shot  himself  or  was  carried  away  by  the  Indians, 
nobody  can  tell.     I  was  then  but  a  little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask;  but  he 
put  it  with  a  faltering  voice  : 

"  Where's  your  mother  1  " 

"  Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since  ; 
she  broke  a  blood-vessel  in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a 
New-England  pedlar." 

There  was  a  drop  of  comfort  at  least  in  this 
intelligence.  The  holiest  man  could  contain  him- 
self no  longer.  He  caught  his  daughter  and  her 
child  in  his  arms.  "  I  am  your  father  !  "  cried  he 
— "  Young  Rip  Van  Winkle  once — old  Rip  Van 
Winkle  now  !— does  nobody  know  poor  Rip  Van 
Winkle  r' 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering 
out  from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her 
brow,  and  peering  under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment, 
exclaimed,  "  Sure  enough  !  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle — 
it  is  himself  !  Welcome  home  again,  old  neighbour. 
Why,  where  have  you  been  these  twenty  long 
years  ? " 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty 
years  had  been  to  him  but  as  one  night. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion 
of  old  Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly 
advancing  up  the  road.  He  was  a  descendant  of 
the  historian  of  that  name,  who  wrote  one  of  the 
earliest  accounts  of  the  province.  Peter  was  the 
most  ancient  inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  well 
versed  in  all  the  wonderful  events  and  traditions 
of  the  neighbourhood.  He  recollected  Rip  at  once, 
and  corroborated  his  story  in  the  most  satisfactory 
manner.  He  assured  the  company  that  it  was  a 
fact,  handed  down  from  his  ancestor  the  historian, 
that  the  Kaatskill  Mountains  had  always  been 
haunted  by  strange  beings.  That  it  was  affirmed 
that  the  great  Hendrick  Hudson,  the  first  dis- 
coverer of  the  river  and  country,  kept  a  kind  of 
vigil  there  every  twenty  years,  with  his  crew  of  the 
Half-moon,  being  permitted  in  this  way  to  revisit 
the  scenes  of  his  enterprise,  and  keep  a  guardian 
eye  upon  the  river,  and  the  great  city  called  by  his 
name. 


42 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


THE    FALCON. 


I^H^HERE  lived  in  Florence  a  young 
_  man,  called  Federigo  Alberigi,  who 
j^!^i>)  surpassed  all  the  youth  of  Tuscany 
in  feats  of  arms,  and  in  accomplished 
manners.  He  (for  gallant  men  will 
fall  in  love)  became  enamoured  of 
Monna  Giovanna,  at  that  time  con- 
sidered the  finest  woman  in  Florence; 
and  that  he  might  inspire  her  with  a 
reciprocal  passion,  he  squandered  his  fortune  at  tilts 
and  tournaments,  in  entertainments  and  presents. 
But  the  lady,  who  was  ^'irtuous  as  she  was  beau- 
tiful, could  on  no  account  be  prevailed  on  to  return 
his  love.  While  he  lived  thus  extravagantly,  and 
without  the  means  of  recruiting  his  coffers, 
poverty,  the  usual  attendant  of  the  thoughtless, 
came  on  apace ;  his  money  was  spent,  and  nothing 
remained  to  him  but  a  small  farm,  barely  sufficient 
for  his  subsistence,  and  a  falcon,  which  was,  how- 
ever, the  finest  in  the  world.  When  he  found  it 
impossible,  therefore,  to  live  longer  in  town,  he 
retired  to  his  little  farm,  where  he  went  a-birding 
in  liis  leisure  hours  ;  and  disdaining  to  ask  favours 
of  any  one,  he  submitted  patiently  to  his  poverty, 
while  he  cherished  in  secret  a  hopeless  passion. 

It  happened  about  this  time  that  the  husband  of 
Monna  Giovanna  died,  leaving  a  great  fortune  to 
their  only  son,  who  was  yet  a  youth ;  and  that  the 
boy  came  along  with  his  mother  to  spend  the  sum- 
mer months  in  the  country  {as  our  custom  usually 
is),  at  a  villa  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Federigo's 
farm.  In  this  way  he  became  acquainted  with 
Federigo,  and  began  to  delight  in  birds  and  dogs, 
and,  having  seen  his  falcon,  he  took  a  great  longing 
for  it,  but  was  afraid  to  ask  it  of  him  when  he  saw 
how  highly  he  prized  it.  This  desire,  however,  so 
much  affected  the  boy's  spirits,  that  he  fell  sick; 
and  his  mother,  who  doted  upon  this  her  only 
child,  became  alarmed,  and  to  soothe  him  pressed 
him  again  and  again  to  ask  whatever  he  wished, 
and  promised  that,  if  it  were  possible,  he  should 
have  all  he  desired.  The  youth  at  last  confessed, 
that  if  he  had  the  falcon  he  would  soon  be  well 
again.  When  the  lady  heard  this,  she  began  to 
consider  what  she  should  do.  She  knew  that 
Federigo  had  long  loved  her,  and  had  received 
from  her  nothing  but  coldness ;  and  how  could 
she  ask  the  falcon,  which  she  heard  was  the  finest 
in  the  world,  and  which  was  now  his  only  conso- 
lation ?  Could  she  be  so  cruel  as  to  deprive  him  of 
his  last  remaining  support  1  Perplexed  with  these 
thoughts,  which  the  full  belief  that  she  should 
have  the  bird  if  she  asked  it  did  not  relieve,  she 
knew  not  what  to  think,  or  how  to  return  her  son 
au  answer.      A  mother's  love,  however,  at  last 


prevailed  ;  she  resolved  to  satisfy  him,  and  deter- 
mined, whatever  might  be  the  consequence,  not  to 
send,  but  to  go  herself  and  procure  the  falcon. 
She  told  her  son,  therefore,  to  take  courage,  and 
think  of  getting  better,  for  that  she  would  herself 
go  on  the  morrow,  and  fetch  what  he  desired ;  and 
the  hope  was  so  agreeable  to  the  boy,  that  he 
began  to  mend  apace. ,  On  the  next  morning 
Monna  Giovanna,  having  taken  another  lady  along 
!  with  her,  went  as  if  for  amusement  to  the  little 
I  cabin  of  Federigo  and  inquired  for  him.  It  was 
!  not  the  birding  season,  and  he  was  at  work  iu  his 
:  garden  ;  when  he  heard,  therefore,  that  Monna 
Giovanna  was  calling  upon  him,  he  ran  with  joyful 
surprise  to  the  door.  She,  on  the  other  hand, 
when  she  saw^  him  coming,  advanced  with  delicate 
politeness  ;  and  when  he  had  respectfully  saluted 
her,  she  said,  "All  happiness  attend  you,  Federigo. 
I  am  come  to  repay  you  for  the  loss  you  have 
suffered  from  loving  me  too  well,  for  this  lady 
and  I  intend  to  dine  with  you  in  an  easy  way  this 
forenoon."  To  this  Federigo  humbly  answered, 
"  I  do  not  remember,  madam,  having  suffered  any 
loss  at  your  hands;  but,  on  the  contrary,  have 
received  so  much  good,  that  if  ever  I  had  any 
worth,  it  sprung  from  you,  and  from  the  love  with 
which  you  inspire  me.  And  this  generous  visit 
to  your  poor  host  is  much  more  dear  to  me  than 
would  be  the  spending  again  of  what  I  have 
already  spent."  Having  said  this,  he  invited  them 
respectfully  into  the  house,  and  from  thence  con- 
ducted them  to  the  garden,  where,  having  nobody 
else  to  keep  them  company,  he  requested  that  they 
would  allow  the  labourer's  wife  to  do  her  best  to 
amuse  them  while  he  went  to  order  dinner. 

Federigo,  however  great  his  poverty,  had  not 
yet  learned  all  the  prudence  which  the  loss  of 
fortune  might  have  taught  him ;  and  it  thus 
happened  that  he  had  nothing  in  the  house  with 
which  he  could  honourably  entertain  the  lady  for 
whose  love  he  had  formerly  given  so  many  enter- 
tainments. Cursing  his  evil  fortune,  therefore,  he 
stood  like  one  beside  himself,  and  looked  in  vain 
for  money  or  pledge.  The  hour  was  already  late, 
and  his  desire  extreme  to  find  something  worthy 
of  his  mistress  ;  he  felt  repugnant,  too,  to  ask  from 
his  own  labourer.  While  he  was  thus  perplexed 
he  chanced  to  cast  his  eyes  upon  his  fine  falcon,, 
which  was  sitting  upon  a  bar  in  the  ante-chamber. 
Having  no  other  resource,  therefore,  he  took  it  into- 
his  hand,  and  finding  it  fat,  he  thought  it  would 
be  proper  for  such  a  lady.  He  accordingly  pulled 
its  neck  without  delay,  and  gave  it  to  a  little  girl 
to  be  plucked ;  and  having  put  it  upon  a  spit,  he 
made  it  be  carefully  roasted.    He   then  covered 


THE  FALCON. 


43 


the  table  with  a  beautiful  cloth,  a  wreck  of  his 
former  splendour ;  and  everything  being  ready,  he 
returned  to  the  garden,  to  tell  the  lady  and  her 
companion  that  dinner  was  served.  They  ac- 
cordingly went  in  and  sat  down  to  table  with 
Federigo,  and  ate  the  good  falcon  without  know- 
ing it. 

When  they  had  finished  dinner,  and  spent  a 
short  while  in  agreeable  conversation,  the  lady 
thought  it  time  to  tell  Federigo  for  what  she  had 
come.  She  said  to  him,  therefore,  in  a  gentle  tone, 
"  Federigo,  when  you  call  to  mind  your  past  life, 
and  recollect  my  virtue,  which  perhaps  you  called 
coldness  and  cruelty,  I  doubt  not  but  that  you 
will  be  astonished  at  my  presumption,  when  I  tell 
you  the  principal  motive  of  my  visit.  But  had 
you  children,  and  knew  how  great  a  love  one  bears 
them,  I  am  sure  you  would  in  part  excuse  me ;  and 
although  you  have  them  not,  I,  who  have  an  only 
child,  cannot  resist  the  feelings  of  a  mother.  By 
the  strength  of  these  am  I  constrained,  in  spite  of 
my  inclination,  and  contrary  to  propriety  and  duty, 
to  ask  a  thing  which  I  know  is  with  reason  dear 
to  you,  for  it  is  your  only  delight  and  consolation 
in  your  misfortunes  :  that  gift  is  your  falcon,  for 
"which  my  son  has  taken  so  great  a  desire,  that 
unless  he  obtain  it,  I  am  afraid  his  illness  will 
increase,  and  that  I  shall  lose  him.  I  beseech  you 
to  give  it  me,  therefore,  not  by  the  love  which  you 
"bear  me  (for  to  that  you  owe  nothing),  but  by 
the  nobleness  of  your  nature,  which  you  have 
shown  in  nothing  more  than  in  your  generosity  ; 
and  I  will  remain  eternally  your  debtor  for  my 
son's  life,  which  your  gift  will  be  the  means  of 
preserving." 

When  Federigo  heard  the  lady's  request,  and 
knew  how  impossible  it  was  to  grant  it,  he  burst 
into  tears,  and  was  unable  to  make  any  reply. 
The  lady  imagined  that  this  arose  from  grief  at 
the  thought  of  losing  his  favourite,  and  showed 
his  unwillingness  to  part  with  it ;  nevertheless  she 
waited  patiently  for  his  answer.  He  at  length 
said,  "  Since  it  first  pleased  Heaven,  madam,  that 
I  should  place  my  affections  on  you,  I  have  found 
Fortune  unkind  to  me  in  many  things,  and  have 
often  accused  her  ;  but  all  her  former  unkindness 
has  been  trifling  compared  with  what  she  has  now 
done  me.  How  can  I  ever  forgive  her,  therefore, 
when  I  remember,  that  you,  who  never  deigned  to 


visit  me  when  I  was  rich,  have  come  to  my  poor 
cottage  to  ask  a  favour  which  she  has  cruelly 
prevented  me  from  bestowing.  The  cause  of  this 
I  shall  briefly  tell  you.  When  I  found  that  in 
your  goodness  you  proposed  to  dine  with  me,  and 
when  I  considered  your  excellence,  I  thought  it 
my  duty  to  honour  you  with  more  precious  food 
than  is  usually  given  to  others.  Recollecting  my 
falcon,  therefore,  and  its  worth,  I  deemed  it 
worthy  food,  and  accordingly  made  it  be  roasted 
and  served  up  for  dinner ;  but  when  I  find  that 
you  wished  to  get  it  in  another  way,  I  shall  never 
be  consoled  for  having  it  not  in  my  power  to  serve 
you."  Having  said  this,  he  showed  them  the 
wings,  and  the  feet,  and  the  bill,  as  evidences  of 
the  truth  of  what  he  had  told  them.  When  the 
lady  had  heard  and  seen  these  things,  she  chided 
him  for  having  killed  so  fine  a  bird  as  food  for  a 
woman,  but  admired  in  secret  that  greatness  of 
mind  which  poverty  had  been  unable  to  subdue. 
Then,  seeing  that  she  could  not  have  the  falcon, 
and  becoming  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  her  child, 
she  thanked  Federigo  for  the  honourable  enter- 
tainment he  had  given  them,  and  returned  home 
in  a  melancholy  mood.  Her  son,  on  the  other 
hand,  either  from  grief  at  not  getting  the  falcon, 
or  from  a  disease  occasioned  by  it,  died  a  few  days 
after,  leaving  his  mother  plunged  in  the  deepest 
affliction. 

Monna  Giovanna  was  left  very  rich,  and  when 
she  had  for  some  time  mourned  her  loss,  being 
importuned  by  her  brothers  to  marry  again,  she 
began  to  reflect  on  the  merit  of  Federigo,  and  on 
the  last  instance  of  his  generosity  displayed  in 
killing  so  fine  a  bird  to  do  her  honour.  She  told 
her  brothers,  therefore,  that  she  would  marry  since 
they  desired  it,  but  that  her  only  choice  would  be 
Federigo  Alberigi.  They  laughed  when  they 
heard  this,  and  asked  her  how  she  could  think  of 
a  man  who  had  nothing ;  but  she  answered,  that 
she  would  rather  have  a  man  without  money,  than 
money  without  a  man.  When  her  brothers,  who 
had  long  known  Federigo,  saw,  therefore,  how  her 
wishes  pointed,  they  consented  to  bestow  her  upon 
him  with  all  her  wealth  ;  and  Federigo,  with  a 
wife  so  excellent  and  so  long  beloved,  and  riches 
equal  to  his  desires,  showed  that  he  had  learned 
to  be  a  better  steward,  and  long  enjoyed  true 
happiness. 


a 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


A   QUAETER  HOUR   CHIME. 

[From  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.] 

O  some  men  the  task  of  being  serious  comes  very  light,  while  others  seem  to  be  blessed 
by  nature  with  a  genuine  humorous  side  to  their  dispositions.     So  with  writers  :  some  are 
at  their  best  in  a  sad  or  pathetic  vein,  some  never  put  pen  to  paper  without   inditing 
something  laughter-begetting  and  full  of  mirth.    It  seems,  however,  to  be  a  peculiarity  of 
a  small  section,  to  be  able  to   blend  the  humorous   and  pathetic,  often  in  so  admirable  a 
fashion  that  the  eyes  of  the  reader  are  frequently  moistened  by  a  tear,  which  for  the  life 
of  him  he  cannot  easily  explain,  whether  it  was  brought  there  by  the  mirth  or  the  sadness 
in  the  writers'  works. 

American  authors  have  this  peculiarity  strongly;  this  mingling  of  the  sad  and  ridiculous,  and 
in  no  one  is  it  more  strongly  developed  than  in  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  who  is  best  known  among  ■ 
us  for  his  "Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table,"  and  his  "Professor."      He  has,  however,  written  some 
exquisite  verses  from  time  to  time,  chief  among  which  is  the  following  curious  blending  of  mirth  and 
sadness : — 


I  saw  him  once  before 
As  he  passed  by  the  door, 

And  again 
The  pavement-stones  resound 
As  he  totters  o'er  the  ground 

With  his  cane. 

They  say  that  in  his  prime. 
Ere  the  pruning-knife  of  Time 

Cut  him  down, 
Not  a  better  man  was  found 
By  the  crier  on  his  round 

Through  the  town. 

But  now  he  walks  the  streets, 
And  he  looks  at  all  he  meets 

So  forlorn  ; 
And  he  shakes  his  feeble  head. 
That  it  seems  as  if  he  said, 

"  They  are  gone  ! " 

The  mossy  marbles  rest 

On  the  lips  that  he  has  pressed 

In  their  bloom ; 
And  the  names  he  loved  to  hear 
Have  been  carved  for  many  a  year 

On  the  tomb. 


My  grandmamma  has  said, — 
Poor  old  lady  !  she  is  dead 

Long  ago, — 
That  he  had  a  Roman  nose, 
And  his  cheek  was  like  a  rose 

In  the  snow ; 

But  now  his  nose  is  thin, 
And  it  rests  upon  his  chin 

Like  a  staff ; 
And  a  crook  is  in  his  back, 
And  a  melancholy  crack 

In  his  laugh. 

I  know  it  is  a  sin 
For  me  to  sit  and  giin 

At  him  here, 
But  the  old  three-cornered  hat, 
And  the  breeches,  and  all  that, 

Are  so  queer  ! 

And  if  I  should  live  to  be 
The  last  leaf  upon  the  tree 

In  the  Spring — 
Let  them  smile  as  I  do  now 
At  the  old  forsaken  bough 

Where  I  cling. 


We  have  the  same  mingling  of  quaint  and  humorous  conceits  blended  together  in  that  pleasant 
ballad,  which  is  so  picturesque  that  you  seem  to  see  the  embossed  old  piece  of  tarnished  silver,  as 
the  story  runs  : — 


This  ancient  silver  bowl  of  mine,  it  tells  of  good 
old  times, 

Of  joyous  days  and  jolly  nights,  and  merry  Christ- 
mas chimes ; 

They  were  a  free  and  jovial  race,  but  honest,  brave, 
and  true, 

That  dipp'd  their  ladle  in  the  punch  when  this  old 
bowl  was  new. 


A  Spanish  galleon  brought  the  bar — so  runs  the 

ancient  tale ; 
'Twas  hammer'd  by  an  Antwerp  smith,  whose  arm 

was  like  a  flail ; 
And  now  and  then  between  the  strokes,  for  fear 

his  strength  should  fail. 
He  wiped  his  brow,  and  quaffd  a  cup  of  good  old 

Flemish  ale. 


A    QUARTER   HOUR   CHIME. 


'Twas  purchased  by  an  English  squire  to  please  his 

loving  dame, 
Who  saw  the  cherubs  and  conceived  a  longing  for 

the  same  ; 


"This  ancient  silver  bowl." 

And  oft  as  on  the  ancient  stock  another  twig  was 

found, 
'Twas  fill'd  with  caudle  spiced  and  hot,  and  handed 

smoking  round. 

But,  changing  hands,  it  reach'd  at  length  a  Puritan 

divine, 
Who  used  to  follow  Timothy,  and  take  a  little  Avine, 
But  hated   punch   and  prelacy ;   and   so  it  was. 

perhaps, 
He  went  to  Leyden,  where  he  found,  conventicles 

and  schnaps. 


'Twas  on   a  dreary  winter's   eve,   the   night  was 

closing  dim. 
When  old  Miles  Standish  took  the  bowl,  and  fiU'd 

it  to  the  brim  ; 
The  little  captain  stood  and  stirr'd  the  posset  with 

his  sword. 
And  all  his  sturdy  men-at-arms  were  ranged  about 

the  board. 

He  pour'd  the  fiery  Hollands  in — the  man  that 

never  fear'd — 
He  took  a  long  and  solemn  draught,  and  wiped 

his  yellow  beard  ; 
And  one   by  one  the  musketeers — the  men  that 

fought  and  pray'd — 
.ill  drank  as  'twere  their  mother's  milk,  and  not  a 

man  afraid. 

That  night,  affrighted  from  his  nest,  the  screaming 

eagle  flew — 
He  heard  the  Pequot's  ringing  whoop,  the  soldier's 

wild  halloo ; 
And  there  the  sachem  learn'd  the  rule  he  taught 

to  kith  and  kin, 
"  Run  from   the   white   man   when   you  find  he 

smells  of  Hollands  gin  I " 


'The  men  that  fought  and  peat'd." 


And  then,  of  course,  you  know  what's  next,  it  left 

the  Dutchman's  shore 
With  those  that  in  the  Mayflower  came,  a  hundred 

souls  and  more. 
Along  with  all  their  furniture,  to  fill  their  new 

abodes — 
To  judge  by  what  is  still  on  hand,  at  least  a 

hundred  loads. 


A  hundred  years,  and  fifty  more,  had  spread  their 

leaves  and  snows, 
A  thousand  rubs  had  flatten'd  down  each  little 

cherub's  nose, 
When  once  again  the  bowl  was  fill'd,  but  not  in 

mirth  or  joy — 
'Twas  mingled  by  a  mother's  hand  to  cheer  her 

parting  boy. 


46 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"Drink,  John,"  she  said,  "'twill  do  you  good;  I  I  love  the  memory  of  the  past — its  press'd  yet 

poor  child,  you'll  never  bear  j  fragrant  flowers— 

This  working  in  the  dismal  trench,  out  in  the  ;  The  moss  that  clothes  its  broken  walls— the  ivy  on 

midnight  air  ;  '  its  towers ; 

And  if — God  bless  me!— }^ou  were  hurt,  'twould     Nay,  this  poor  bauble  it  bequeath'd,  my  eyes  grow 

keep  away  the  chill ; "  j  moist  and  dim. 

So  John  did  drink— ^and  well  he   wrought   that  |  To  think   of  all   the  vanish'd  joys  that  danced 


niofht  at  Bunker's  Hill ! 


around  its  brim. 


I  tell  you,  there  was  generous  warmth  in  good  old  j  Then  fill  a  fair  and  honest  cup,  and  bear  it  straight 

English  cheer ;  j  to  me ; 

I  tell  you,  'twas  a  pleasant  thought  to  bring  its  !  The  goblet  hallows  all  it  holds,  whate'er  the  liquid 


symbol  here  : 
'Tis  but  the  fool  that  loves  excess  ;  hast  thou  a 

drunken  soul  ? 
Thy  bane  is  in  thy  shallow  skull,  not  in  my  silver 

bowl ! 


be  ; 
And  may  the  cherubs  on  its  face  protect  me  from 

the  sin 
That  dooms  one  to  those  dreadful  words — "My 

dear,  where  have  you  been  1 " 


But  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  can   laugh,  and  that  too,  freely — laugh  with  his  pen,  as  when,  in 
his  poem  "  Evening,"  supposed  to  be  written  by  a  tailor,  he  says  : — 

Day  hath  put  on  his  jacket,  and  around 
His  burning  bosom  buttoned  it  with  stars. 

Or,  when  he  describes  the  miseries  inflicted  by  music  grinders  as  fervently  as  a  man  who  has  bean 
constantly  pestered  by  organs,  and  says  : — 


But  hark  I  the  air  again  is  still, 

The  music  all  is  ground. 
And  silence,  like  a  poultice,  comes 

To  heal  the  blows  of  sound  ; 
It  cannot  be — it  is,  it  is — 

A  hat  is  going  round  ! 

No  !   Pay  the  dentist  when  he  leaves 

A  fracture  in  your  jaw, 
And  pay  the  owner  of  the  bear 

That  stunned  you  with  his  paw, 
And  buy  the  lobster  that  has  had 

Your  knuckles  in  his  claw  ; 


But  if  you  are  a  portly  man, 
Put  on  your  fiercest  frown, 

And  talk  about  a  constable 
To  turn  them  out  of  town ; 

Then  close  your  sentence  with  an  oath, 
Ahd  shut  the  window  down  ! 

And  if  you  are  a  slender  man. 

Not  big  enough  for  that. 
Or  if  you  cannot  make  a  speech 

Because  you  are  a  flat. 
Go  very  quietly  and  drop 

A  button  in  the  hat  ! 


In  fact,  speaking  of  laughter,  he  goes  so  far  in  one  of  his  poems  as  to  say  of  his  servant,  who 
read  some  lines :  — 


He  read  the  second,  the  grin  grew  broad, 
And  shot  from  ear  to  ear  ; 
He  read  the  third,  a  chuckling  noise 
I  now  began  to  hear. 

The  fourth,  he  broke  into  a  roar, 
The  fifth  his  waistband  split ; 


The  sixth  he  burst  four  buttons  off, 
And  tumbled  in  a  fit. 

Ten  days  and  nights,  with  sleepless  eyes, 
I  watched  that  wretched  man. 
And  since,  I  never  dare  to  write 
As  funny  as  I  can. 


All  the  same,  though,  he  ventures  to  be  very  humorous  in  his  description  of  that  masterpiece  of 
mechanism,  that  was  designed  and  built  from  beginning  to  end  by  the  Deacon,  to  whose  genius  is 
due  "  The  Wonderful  One-hoss  Shay," 


A   QUARTER   HOUR   CHIME. 


47 


Have  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay, 

That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way, 

It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 

And  then,  of  a  sudden  it — ah  !  but  stay, 

I'll  tell  you  what  happen'd  without  delay, 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits. 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  1 

Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five  : 
Georgnis  Secundus  was  then  alive — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive  ! 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down. 
And  Braddock's  army  was  done  so  brown. 
Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 
It  was  on  the  terrible  earthquake-day 
That  the  deacon  finished  the  one-hoss-shay. 
Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what. 
There  is  always  somewhere  a  weakest  spot- 
In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill. 
In  panel,  or  cross-bar,  or  floor,  or  sill. 
In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace— lurking  still. 
Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will. 
Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without ; 
And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 
A  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  wear  out. 

But  the  deacon  swore  (as  deacons  do, 

With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "  I  tell  yeou  "  ) 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 

'N'  the  keounty,  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ; 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couldn't  break  daown : 

"  Fur,"  said  the  deacon,  "  't's  mighty  plain 

That  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain  ; 

'N'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain,  is  only  jest 

To  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak. 

That  couldn't  be  split,  nor  bent,  nor  broke — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills  ;  * 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees  ; 

The  panels  of  white- wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these  ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  settler's  ellum  " — 

Last  of  its  timber — they  couldn't  sell  'em  ; 

Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips. 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips. 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery -tips  ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too. 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue  ; 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide  ; 

•  Shafts, 


Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 
Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 
That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through." 
"  There  ! "  said  the  deacon,  "  naow  she'll  dew ! " 

Do  !  Ill  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less. 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turned  grey. 

Deacon  and  deaconess  dropp'd  away, 

Children  and  grand-children — where  were  they  ] 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss-shay. 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon  earthquake-day  ! 

Eighteen  Hundred  :  it  came  and  found 
The  deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten  : 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge  "  they  call'd  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came  : 
Running  as  usual  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive. 
And  then  came  fifty  and  fifty-five. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 

W^akes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 

Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 

In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 

So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 

(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large  ; 

Take  it.    You're  welcome.    No  extra  charge^ 

First  of  November— the  earthquake  day  : 

There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss-shay, 

A  general  flavour  of  mild  decay, 

But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 

There  couldn't  be,  for  the  deacon's  art 

Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 

That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 

For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 

And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 

And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor. 

And  the  whippletree  f  neither  less  nor  more 

And  the  back-crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore 

And  spring,  and  axe,  and  hub  +  encore. 

And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt, 

In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out. 

First  of  November,  'fifty-five  : 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way  ! 
Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay, 
Drawn  by  a  rat-tail'd,  ewe-neck'd  bay. 
"  Huddup  ! "  said  the  parson.     Off  went  they 

The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text, 
Had  got  to  JiftJihj,  and  stopp'd  perplex'd 
At  what  the — Moses — was  coming  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still. 
Close  by  the  meet'n' -house  on  the  hill. 


t  Splinter-bar. 


X  Nave. 


48 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 

Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill — 

And  the  parson  was  sitting  npon  a  i-ock, 

At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet'u'-honse  clock — 

Just  the  hour  of  the  earthquake-shock  ! 

What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 

When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  i— 

The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 


As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce, 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once — 
All  at  once,  and  nothing  first, 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-sha^ . 
Logic  is  logic — that's  all  I  say. 


"  Ekd  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shat.' 


LOVE    IN    A    BALLOON. 

[B.v  Thetee  Smith.] 


.OME  time  ago  I  was  staying  with  Sir 

George  P ,   P House,  P 

shire.  Great  number  of  people  there 
— all  kinds  of  amusements  going  on. 
Driving,  riding,  fishing,  shooting, 
everything  in  fact.  Sir  George's  daughter, 
Fanny,  was  often  my  companion  in  these 
expeditions,  and  I  was  considerably  struck 
with  her.  She  Could  ride  like  Nimrod,  she  could 
drive  like  Jehu,  she  could  row  like  Charon,  she 
could  dance  like  Terpsichore,  she  could  run  like 
Diana,  she  walked  like  Juno,  and  she  look  like 
Venus.     I've  even  seen  her  smoke. 

You  should  have  heard  that  girl  whistle  and 
laugh— you  should  have  heard  her  laugL  She 
was  truly  a  delightful  companion.  We  rode 
together,  drove  together,  fished  together,  walked 
together,  danced  together,  sang  together ;  I  called 
her  Fanny,  and  she  called  me  Tom.  All  this 
could  have  but  one  termination,  you  know.  I  fell 
in  love  with  her,  and  determined  to  take  the  first 
opportunity  of  proposing.  So,  one  day,  when  we 
were  out  'together  fishing  on  the  lake,  I  went  down 
on  my  knees  amongst  the  gudgeons,  seized  her 
hand,  pressed  it  to  my  waistcoat,  and  in  burning 
accents  entreated  her  to  become  my  wife. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool ! "  she  said.  ■ "  Now  drop  it, 
do  !  and  put  me  a  fresh  worm  on." 

"  Oh  I  Fanny,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  don't  talk  about 
worms    when    marriage    is    in    question.     Only 

say " 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is  now,"  she  replied  angrily, 
"if  you  don't  drop  it,  I'U  pitch  you  out  of  the 
boat" 

I  did  not  drop  it ;  and  I  give  you  my  word  of 
Iionour,  with  a  sudden  shove  she  sent  me  flying 


into  the  water ;  then  seizing  the  sculls,  with  a 
stroke  or  two  she  put  several  yards  between  us, 
and  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  fortunately 
prevented  her  from  going  any  further.  I  sAvam  up 
and  climbed  into  the  boat.  "  Jenkyns  ! "  said  I, 
to  myself,  "  Revenge  !  revenge  ! "  I  disguised 
my  feelings.  I  laughed — hideous  mockery — I 
laughed.  Pulled  to  the  bank,  went  to  the  house, 
and  changed  my  clothes.  When  I  appeared  at 
the  dinner  table,  I  perceived  that  every  one  had 
been  told  of  my  ducking — universal  laughter 
greeted  me.  During  dinner  Fanny  repeatedly 
whispered  to  her  neighbour,  and  glanced  at 
me.  Smothered  laughter  invariably  followed. 
"Jenkyns  ! "  said  I,  "  Revenge  ! "  The  opportunity 
soon  offered.  There  was  to  be  a  balloon  ascent 
from  the  lawn,  and  Fanny  had  tormented  her 
father  into  letting  her  ascend  with  the  aeronaut. 
I  instantly  took  my  plans  ;  bribed  the  aeronaut; 
learned  from  him  the  management  of  the  balloon, 
though  I  understood  that  pretty  well  before,  and 
calmly  awaited  the  result.  The  day  came.  The 
weather  was  fine.  The  balloon  was  inflated. 
Fanny  was  in  the  car.  Everything  was  ready, 
when  the  aeronaut  suddenly  fainted.  He  was 
carried  into  the  house,  and  Sir  George  accom- 
panied him  to  see  that  he  was  properly  attended 
to.     Fanny  was  in  despair. 

"  Am  I  to  lose  my  air  expedition  1 "  she  ex- 
claimed, looking  over  the  side  of  the  car.  "Some- 
one understands  the  management  of  this  thing, 
surely  1  Nobody  !  Tom  !  "  she  called  out  to  me 
"  you  understand  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  I  answered. 

"  Come  along  then,"  she  cried,  "  be  quick ; 
before  papa  comes  back." 


LOVE   IN   A   BALLOON. 


49 


The  company  in  general  endeavoured  to  dis- 
suade her  from  her  project,  but  of  course  in  vain. 
After  a  decent  show  of  hesitation,  I  climbed  into 
the  car.  The  balloon  was  cast  off,  and  rapidly 
sailed  heavenward.  There  was  scarcely  a  breath 
of  wind,  and  we  rose  almost  straight  up.  We  rose 
above  the  house,  and  she  laughed  and  said  ; 

"  How  jolly  !" 

We  were  higher  than  the  highest  trees,  and  she 
smiled,  and  said  it  was  very  kind  of  me  to  come 
with  her.  We  were  so  high  that  the  people  below 
looked  mere  specks,  and  she  hoped  that  I 
thoroughly  understood  the  management  of  the 
balloon.     Now  was  my  time. 


pleasantly ;  "  only  with  love  for  you.  Oh,  Fanny, 
I  adore  you  !  say  you  will  be  my  wife.' 

"I  gave  you  an  answer  the  other  day,"  she 
replied ;  "  one  which  I  should  have  thought  you 
would  have  remembered,"  she  added,  laughing  a 
little,  notwithstanding  her  terror. 

"I  remember  it  perfectly,"  I  answered;  "but 
I  intend  to  have  a  different  reply  to  that.  You 
see  those  five  sand-bags,  I  shall  ask  you  five  times 
to  become  my  wife.  Every  time  you  refuse  I 
shall  throw  over  a  sand-bag.  So,  lady  fair,  as  the 
cabmen  would  say,  reconsider  your  decision,  and 
consent  to  become  Mrs.  Jenkyns." 

"  I  won't  ! "  she  said,  "  I  never  will  !  and  let  me 


You    SEE   THOSE    FIVE   SAND  BAGS  ?  ' 


"  I  understand  the  going  up  part,"  I  answered  ; 
"  to  come  down  is  not  so  easy,"  and  I  whistled, 

"What  do  you  mean  1 "  she  cried. 

"Why,  when  you  want  to  go  up  faster,  you  throw 
some  sand  overboard,"  I  replied,  suiting  the  action 
to  the  word. 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Tom,"  she  said,  trying  to 
appear  quite  calm  and  indifferent,  but  trembling 
uncommonly. 

"  Foolish  !"  I  said.  "  Oh,  dear  no  !  but  whether 
I  go  along  the  ground  or  up  in  the  air  I  like  to  go 
the  pace,  and  so  do  you,  Fanny,  I  know.  Go  it, 
you  cripples  ! "  and  over  went  another  sand-bag. 

"  Why,  you're  mad,  surely,"  she  whispered  in 
utter  terror,  and  tried  to  reach  the  bags,  but  I  kept 
her  back. 

"  Only  with  love,  my  dear,"  I  answered,  smiling 
a 


tell  you,  that  you  are  acting  in  a  very  ungentlo- 
manly  way  to  press  me  thus." 

"You  acted  in  a  very  ladylike  way  the  other 
day,  did  you  not,"  I  rejoined,  "  when  you  knocked 
me  out  of  the  boat  1 "  She  laughed  again,  for  she 
was  a  plucky  girl,  and  no  mistake — a  very  plucky 
girl.  "  However,"  I  went  on,  "  it's  no  use  arguing 
about  it — will  you  promise  to  give  me  your  hand?" 

"  Never  !"  she  answered ;  "  I'll  go  to  Ursa  Major 
first,  though  I've  got  big  enough  bear  here,  in  all 
conscience.  Stay,  you'd  prefer  Aquarius,  wouldn't 
you]" 

She  looked  so  pretty  that  I  was  almost  inclined 
to  let  her  off  (I  was  only  trying  to  frighten  her,  of 
course — I  knew  how  high  we  could  go  safely  well 
enough,  and  how  valuable  the  life  of  Jenkyns  was 
to  his  country) ;  but  resolution  is  one  of  the  strong 


50 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


points  of  my  character,  and  when  I've  begun  a 
thing  I  like  to  carry  it  through,  so  I  threw  over 
another  sand-bag,  and  whistled  the  Dead  March 
in  Saul. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Jenkyns,"  she  said,  suddenly, 
"come,  Tom,  let  us  descend  now,  and  I'll  promise 
to  say  nothing  whatever  about  all  this." 

I  continued  the  execution  of  the  Dead  March. 

"But  if  you  do  not  begin  the  descent  at  once  I'll 
tell  papa  the  moment  I  set  foot  on  the  ground." 

I  laughed,  seized  another  bag,  and,  looking 
steadily  at  her,  said  : 

"  Will  you  promise  to  give  me  your  hand  ? " 

"  I've  answered  you  already,"  was  the  reply. 

Over  went  the  sand,  and  the  solemn  notes  of  the 
Dead  March  resounded  through  the  car. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman,"  said  Fanny, 
rising  up  in  a  terrible  rage  from  the  bottom  of  the 
car  where  she  had  been  sitting,  and  looking  per- 
fectly beautiful  in  her  wrath;  "I  thought  you  were 
a  gentleman,  but  I  find  I  was  mistaken ;  why  a 
chimney-sweeper  would  not  treat  a  lady  in  such  a 
way.  Do  you  know  that  you  are  risking  your  own 
life  as  well  as  mine  by  your  madness  ? " 

I  explained  that  I  adored  her  so  much  that  to 
die  in  her  company  would  be  perfect  bliss,  so  that 
I  begged  she  would  not  consider  my  feelings  at  all. 
She  dashed  her  beautiful  hair  from  her  face,  and 
standing  perfectly  erect,  looking  like  the  Goddess 
of  Anger,  or  Boadicea — if  you  can  fancy  that  per- 
sonage in  a  balloon — she  said  : 

"I  command  you  to  begin  the  descent  this 
moment." 

The  Dead  March,  whistled  in  a  manner  essentially 
gay  and  lively,  was  the  only  response.  After  a  few 
minutes'  silence,  I  took  up  another  bag  and 
said  : 

"  We  are  getting  rather  high  ;  if  you  do  not  decide 
soon,  we  shall  have  Mercury  coming  to  tell  us  we 
are  trespassing — will  you  promise  me  your  hand  1 " 

She  sat  in  sulky  silence  in  the  bottom  of  the 
car.  I  threw  over  the  sand.  Then  she  tried 
another  plan.  Throwing  herself  upon  her  knees, 
and  bursting  into  tears,  she  said  : 

"  Oh,  forgive  me  for  what  I  did  the  other  day  ! 
It  was  very  wrong,  and  I  am  very  sorry.  Take 
me  home  and  I  will  be  a  sister  to  you." 

"Not  a  wife?"  said  I. 

"  I  can't !    I  can't ! "  she  answered. 

Over  went  the  fourth  bag,  and  I  began  to  think 
that  she  would  beat  me,  after  all ;  for  I  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  going  much  higher.  I  would  not 
^ve  in  just  yet,  however.  I  whistled  for  a  few 
moments,  to  give  her  time  for  reflection,  and  then 
.said  : 

"Fanny,  they  say  that  marriages  are  made  in 
-Heaven — if  you  do  not  take  care,  ours  will  be 
solemnised  there." 


I  took  up  the  fifth  bag. 

"Come,"  I  said,  "my  wife  in  life,  or  my  com- 
panion in  death  !  Which  is  it  to  hel"  and  I  patted 
the  sand-bag  in  a  cheerful  manner.  She  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands  but  did  not  answer.  I  nursed 
the  bag  in  my  arms  as  if  it  had  been  a  baby. 

"  Come,  Fanny,  give  me  your  promise  ! " 

I  could  hear  her  sobs.  I'm  the  most  soft-hearted 
creature  breathing,  and  would  not  pain  any  living 
thing,  and  I  confess  she  had  beaten  me.  I  forgave 
her  the  ducking  ;  I  forgave  her  for  rejecting  me. 
I  was  on  the  point  of  flinging  the  bag  back  into 
the  car,  and  saying:  "Dearest  Fanny  !  forgive  mc 
for  frightening  you.  Marry  whomsoever  you  will. 
Give  your  lovely  hand  to  the  lowest  groom  in  your 
stables, — endow  with  your  priceless  beauty  the  . 
Chief  of  the  Panki-wanki  Indians.  Whatever  hap- 
pens, Jenkyns  is  your  slave — your  dog — your  foot- 
stool His  duty  henceforth  is  to  go  whithersoever 
you  shall  order — to  do  whatever  you  shall  com- 
mand." I  was  just  on  the  point  of  saying  this,  I 
repeat,  when  Fanny  suddenly  looked  up  and  said, 
with  a  queerish  expression  upon  her  face  : 

"  You  need  not  throw  that  last  bag  over ;  I 
promise  to  give  you  my  hand." 

"  With  all  your  heart  1 "  I  asked,  quickly. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  she  answered,  with  the 
same  strange  look. 

I  tossed  the  bag  into  the  bottom  of  the  car,  and 
opened  the  valve.     The  balloon  descended. 

Will  you  believe  it  1  When  we  had  reached  the 
ground,  and  the  balloon  had  been  given  over  to  its 
recovered  master  :  when  I  had  helped  Fanny  ten- 
derly to  the  earth,  and  turned  towards  her  to 
receive  anew  the  promise  of  her  aff"ection  and  her 
hand  ;  will  you  believe  it  ]  she  gave  me  a  box  on 
the  ear,  that  upset  me  against  the  car,  and  run- 
ning to  her  father,  when  he  came  up,  she  related  to 
him  what  she  called  my  disgraceful  conduct  in  the 
balloon,  and  ended  by  informing  me  that  all  of  her 
hand  I  was  likely  to  get  had  been  already  bestowed 
upon  my  ear,  which  she  assured  me  had  been  given 
with  all  her  heart. 

"  You  villain  ! "  said  Sir  George,  advancing 
towards  me  with  a  horse-whip  in  his  hand.  "  You 
villain  '  I've  a  good  mind  to  break  this  over  your 
back." 

"  Sir  George,"  said  I,  "  villain  and  Jenkyns  must 
never  be  coupled  in  the  same  sentence  ;  and  as  for 
the  breaking  of  this  whip,  I'll  relieve  you  of  the 
trouble,"  and,  snatching  it  from  his  hand,  I  broke  it 
in  two,  and  threw  the  pieces  on  the  ground.  "And 
now  I  shall  have  the  honour  of  wishing  you  a  good 
morning.  Miss  P .     I  forgive  you,  and  I  retire." 

Now  I  ask  you  whether  any  specimen  of  female 
treachery  equal  to  that  has  ever  come  within  your 
experience,  and  whether  any  excuse  can  be  made 
for  such  conduct  1 


THE   DISCONTENTED   PENDULUM. 


51 


THE  DISCONTENTED  PENDULUM. 

[By  Jane  Taylor  1 


N  old  clock  that  had  stood  for  fifty 
years  in  a  farmer's  kitchen  without 
giving  its  owner  any  cause  of  com- 
plaint, early  one  summer's  morning, 
before  the  family  were  stirring,  sud- 
denly stopped. 

Upon  this  the  dial-plate,  if  we  may 
credit  the  fable,  changed  countenance  with 
alarm ;  the  hands  made  a  vain  effort  to  continue 
their  course  ;  the  wheels  remained  motionless  with 
surprise ;  the  weights  hung  speechless ;  each 
member  felt  disposed  to  lay  the  blame  on  the 
others.  At  length  the  dial  instituted  a  formal 
inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  the  stagnation,  when 
hands,  wheels,  weights,  with  one  voice  protested 
their  innocence.  But  now  a  faint  tick  was  heard 
below  from  the  pendulum,  who  thus  spoke  : — 

"I  confess  myself  to  be  the  sole  cause  of  the 
present  stoppage ;  and  I  am  willing,  for  the 
general  satisfaction,  to  assign  my  reasons.  The 
truth  is,  that  I  am  tired  of  ticking."  Upon  hear- 
ing this,  the  old  clock  became  so  enraged,  that  it 
was  on  the  very  point  of  striking. 

"  Lazy  wire  !  "  exclaimed  the  dial-plate,  holding 
up  its  hands. 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  pendulvim  :  "it  is 
vastly  easy  for  you,  Mistress  Dial,  who  have 
always,  as  everybody  knows,  set  yourself  up 
above  me, — it  is  vastly  easy  for  you,  I  say,  to 
accuse  other  people  of  laziness !  You,  who  have 
had  nothing  to  do  all  the  days  of  your  life  but  to 
stare  people  in  the  face,  and  to  amuse  yourself 
with  watching  all  that  goes  on  in  the  kitchen ! 
Think,  I  beseech  you,  how  you  would  like  to  be 
shut  up  for  life  in  this  dark  closet,  and  to  wag 
backwards  and  forwards  year  after  year  as  I  do." 
"As  to  that,"  said  the  dial,  "is  there  not  a 
window  in  your  house,  on  purpose  for  you  to  look 
through  ? " 

"For  all  that,"  resumed  the  pendulum,  "it  is 
very  dark  here  :  and,  although  there  is  a  window, 
I  dare  not  stop  even  for  an  instant,  to  look  out  at 
it.  Besides,  I  am  really  tired  of  my  way  of  life  ; 
and,  if  you  wish,  I'll  tell  you  how  I  took  this 
disgust  at  my  employment.  I  happened  this 
morning  to  be  calculating  how  many  times  I 
should  have  to  tick  in  the  course  only  of  the  next 
twenty-four  hours  :  perhaps  some  of  you  above 
there  can  give  me  the  exact  sum." 

The  minute  hand,  being  qiiick  at  figures, 
presently  replied,  "  Eighty  -  six  thousand  four 
hundred  times." 


"  Exactly  so,"  replied  the  pendulum  ;  "  well,  1 
appeal  to  you  all,  if  the  very  thought  of  this  was 
not  enough  to  fatigue  one  ;  and  when  I  began  to 
multiply  the  strokes  of  one  day  by  those  of  months 
and  years,  really  it  is  no  wonder  if  I  felt  dis- 
couraged at  the  prospect ;  so,  after  a  great  deal  of 
reasoning  and  hesitation,  thinks  I  to  myself,  I'll 
stop." 

The  dial  could  scarcely  keep  its  countenance 
during  this  harangue ;  but,  resuming  its  gravity, 
thus  replied  : — 

"Dear  Mr.  Pendulum,  I  am  really  astonished 
that  such  a  useful,  industrious  person  as  yourself 
should  have  been  overcome  by  this  sudden  notion. 
It  is  true  you  have  done  a  great  deal  of  work  in 
your  time ;  so  have  we  all,  and  are  likely  to  do ; 
which,  although  it  may  fatigue  us  to  think  of,  the 
question  is  whether  it  will  fatigue  us  to  do. 
Would  you  now  do  me  the  favour  to  give  about 
half-a-dozen  strokes,  to  illustrate  my  argument  1 " 

The  pendulum  complied,  and  ticked  six  times  at 
its  usual  pace.  "  Now,"  resumed  the  dial,  "  may  I 
be  allowed  to  inquire,  if  that  exertion  was  at  all 
fatiguing  or  disagreeable  to  you  1 " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  the  pendulum  ;  "  it 
is  not  of  six  strokes  that  I  complain,  nor  of  sixty, 
but  of  millions.^' 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  dial;  "but  recollect, 
that  though  you  may  think  of  a  million  strokes  in 
an  instant,  you  are  required  to  execute  but  one  ; 
and  that,  however  often  you  may  hereafter  have 
to  swing,  a  moment  will  always  be  given  you  to 
swing  in." 

"That  consideration  staggers  me,  I  confess," 
said  the  pendulum. 

"  Then  I  hope,"  resumed  the  dial-plate,  "  we  shall 
all  immediately  return  to  our  duty  ;  for  the  maids 
will  lie  in  bed  till  noon  if  we  stand  idling  thus." 

Upon  this  the  weights,  who  had  never  been 
accused  of  light  conduct,  used  all  their  influence 
in  urging  him  to  proceed ;  when,  as  with  one 
consent,  the  v^heels  began  to  turn,  the  hands 
began  to  move,  the  pendulum  began  to  swing,  and, 
to  its  credit,  ticked  as  loud  as  ever ;  while  a  red 
beam  of  the  rising  sun,  that  streamed  through  a 
hole  in  the  kitchen-shutter,  shining  full  upon  the 
dial-plate,  it  brightened  up  as  if  nothing  had  been 
the  matter. 

Wlien  the  farmer  came  down  to  breakfast  that 
morning,  upon  looking  at  the  clock  he  declared 
that  his  watch  had  gained  half-an-hour  in  the 
night 


32 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


THE   BALLAD   OF   CAEMILHAN. 

[By  Henry  Wadswobth  Longfellow.] 


^ 


Stralsund,  by  the  Baltic  Sea, 

Within  the  sandy  bar, 
At  sunset  of  a  summer's  day. 
Ready  for  sea,  at  anchor  lay 
The  good  ship  Valdemar. 


The  sunbeams  danced  upon  the  waves, 

And  played  along  her  side. 
And  through  the  cabin-windows  streamed 
In  ripples  of  golden  light,  that  seemed 

The  ripple  of  the  tide. 

There  sat  the  captain  with  his  friends — 

Old  skippers  brown  and  hale — 
Who  smoked  and  grumbled  o'er  their  grog. 
And  talked  of  iceberg  and  of  fog, 
Of  calm,  and  storm,  and  gale. 

And  one  was  spinning  a  sailor's  yarn 

About  Klabotennan, 
The  Kobold  of  the  sea  ;  a  sprite 
Invisible  to  mortal  sight, 

Who  o'er  the  rigging  ran. 

Sometimes  he  hammered  in  the  hold, 

Sometimes  upon  the  mast. 
Sometimes  abeam,  sometimes  abaft, 
Or  at  the  bows  he  sang  and  laughed. 

And  made  all  tight  and  fast. 

He  helped  the  sailors  at  their  work. 

And  toiled  vfiih  jovial  din  ; 
He  helped  them  hoist  and  reef  the  sails, 
He  helped  them  stow  the  casks  and  bales. 

And  heave  the  anchor  in. 

But  woe  unto  the  laz>'  louts, 

The  idlers  of  the  crew  ; 
Them  to  torment  is  his  delight, 
And  worry  them  by  day  and  night, 

And  pinch  them  black  and  blue. 

And  woe  to  him  whose  mortal  eyes 

Klaboterman  behold ; 
It  is  a  certain  sign  of  death ! — 
The  cabin-boy  here  held  his  breath, 

He  felt  his  blood  run  cold. 

n. 

The  jolly  skipper  paused  awhile, 

And  then  again  began  : 
"  There  is  a  Spectre  Ship,"  quoth  he, 
"  A  ship  of  the  Dead,  that  sails  the  sea, 

And  is  called  the  Carmilhan. 


"  A  ghostly  ship,  with  a  ghostly  crew, 

In  tempests  she  appears  ; 
And  before  the  gale,  or  against  the  gale, 
She  sails  without  a  rag  of  sail, 

Without  a  helmsman  steers. 

"She  haunts  the  Atlantic  north  and  south. 

But  mostly  the  mid-sea, 
Where  three  great  rocks  rise  bleak  and  bare, 
Like  furnace-chimneys  in  the  air, 

And  are  called  the  Chimneys  Three. 

"  And  ill  betide  the  luckless  ship 

That  meets  the  Carmilhan  ; 
Over  her  decks  the  seas  will  leap, 
She  must  go  down  into  the  deep, 

And  perish  mouse  and  man." 

The  captain  of  the  Valdemar 

Laughed  loud  with  merry  heart. 
*'  I  should  like  to  see  this  ship,"  said  he  ; 
I  should  like  to  find  these  Chimneys  Three, 

That  are  marked  down  in  the  chart. 

"  I  have  sailed  right  over  the  spot,"  he  said, 

"  With  a  good  stiff  breeze  behind. 
When  the  sea  was  blue,  and  the  sky  was  clear — 
You  can  follow  my  course  by  these  i»inlioles 
here — 
And  never  a  rock  could  find." 

And  then  he  swore  a  dreadful  oath. 
He  swore  by  the  Kingdoms  Three, 
That  should  he  meet  the  Carmilhan, 
He  would  run  her  down,  although  he  ran 
Right  into  Eternity ! 

All  this,  while  passing  to  and  fro, 

The  cabin-boy  had  heard  ; 
He  lingered  at  the  door  to  hear, 
And  drank  in  all  with  greedy  ear, 

And  pondered  every  word. 

He  was  a  simple  country  lad. 

But  of  a  roving  mind  ; 
"  Oh,  it  must  be  like  heaven,"  thought  he, 
"  Those  far-off  foreign  lands  to  see. 

And  fortune  seek  and  find  !  " 

But  in  the  fo'castle,  when  he  heard 

The  mariners  blaspheme, 
He  thought  of  home,  he  thought  of  God, 
And  his  mother  under  the  churchyard  soa, 

And  wished  it  were  a  dream. 


THE   BALLAD    OF   CARMILHAN. 


53 


One  friend  on  board  that  ship  had  he ; 

'Twas  the  Klaboterman, 
Who  saw  the  Bible  in  his  chest, 
And  made  a  sign  upon  his  breast, 

All  evil  things  to  ban. 


"  It  is  the  tide,"  those  skippers  cried, 

"  That  swings  the  vessel  so  ; 
It  is  the  tide  ;  it  rises  fast, 
'Tis  time  to  say  farewell  at  last, 
'Tis  time  for  us  to  go." 


"A  HOPELESS  WRECK,  UPON  THE  CHIMNEYS  THREE."     {Drawn  hi)  E.  Wagner 


III. 

The  cabin-windows  have  grown  blank 

As  eyeballs  of  the  dead  ; 
No  more  the  glancing  sunbeams  burn 
On  the  gilt  letters  of  the  stern. 

But  on  the  figure-head  ; 

On  Valdemar  Victorious, 

Who  looketh  with  disdain, 
To  see  his  image  in  the  tide 
Dismembered  float  from  side  to  side, 
And  reunite  again. 


They  shook  the  captain  by  the  hand, 

"  Good  luck  !  good  luck  !  "  they  cried  ; 
Each  face  was  like  the  setting  sun, 
As,  broad  and  red,  they  one  by  one 
Went  o'er  the  vessel's  side. 

The  sun  went  down,  the  full  moon  rose, 

The  tide  was  at  its  flood  ; 
And  all  the  winding  creeks  and  bays 
And  broad  sea-meadows  seemed  ablaze, 

The  sky  was  red  as  blood. 


54 


GLEANINGS   FROM    POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


The  south-west  wind  blew  fresh  and  fair, 

As  fair  as  wind  could  be  ; 
Bound  for  Odessa,  o'er  the  bar, 
With  all  sail  set,  the  Valdeniar 

Went  proudly  out  to  sea 

The  lovely  moon  climbs  up  the  sky 

As  one  who  walks  in  dreams  ; 
A  tower  of  marble  in  her  light, 
A  wall  of  black,  a  wall  of  white, 
The  stately  vessel  seems. 

Low  down  upon  the  sandy  coast 

The  lights  begin  to  burn  ; 
And  now  uplifted  high  in  air 
They  kindle  with  a  fiercer  glare, 

And  now  drop  far  astern. 

The  dawn  appears,  the  land  is  gone, 

The  sea  is  all  around  ; 
Then  on  each  hand  low  hills  of  sand 
Emerge  and  form  another  land  ; 

She  steereth  through  the  Sound. 

Through  Kattegat  and  Skager-rack, 

She  flitteth  like  a  ghost ; 
By  day  and  night,  by  night  and  day. 
She  bounds,  she  flies  upon  her  way 

Along  the  English  coast. 

Cape  Finisterre  is  drawing  near, 

Cape  Finisterre  is  past ; 
Into  the  open  ocean  stream 
She  floats,  the  vision  of  a  dream 

Too  beautiful  to  last. 

Suns  rise  and  set,  and  rise,  and  yet 

There  is  no  land  in  sight ; 
The  liquid  planets  overhead 
Burn  brighter  now  the  moon  is  dead, 

And  longer  stays  the  night. 

IV. 

And  now  along  the  horizon's  edge 

Mountains  of  cloud  uprose. 
Black,  as  with  forests,  underneath, 
Above,  their  sharp  and  jagged  teeth 

Were  white  as  drifted  snows. 

Unseen  behind  them  sank  the  sun, 

But  flushed  each  snowy  peak 
A  little  while  with  rosy  light, 
That  faded  slowly  from  the  sight. 
As  blushes  from  the  cheek. 

Black  grew  the  sky,  all  black,  all  black  ; 

The  clouds  were  everywhere  ; 
There  was  a  feeling  of  suspense 
In  nature,  a  mysterious  sense 

Of  terror  in  the  air. 


And  all  on  board  the  Valdemar 

Was  still  as  still  could  be, 
Save  when  the  dismal  ship-bell  tolled, 
As  ever  and  anon  she  rolled. 

And  lurched  into  the  sea. 

The  captain  up  and  down  the  deck 

Went  striding  to  and  fro  ; 
Now  watchetl  the  compass  at  the  wheel. 
Now  lifted  up  his  hand  to  feel 

Which  way  the  wind  might  blow. 

And  now  he  looked  up  at  the  sails, 

And  now  upon  the  deep  ; 
In  every  fibre  of  his  frame 
He  felt  the  storm  before  it  came, 

He  had  no  thought  of  sleep. 

Eight  bells !  and  suddenly  abaft. 

With  a  great  rush  of  rain, 
Making  the  ocean  white  with  spume. 
In  darkness  like  the  day  of  doom. 

On  came  the  hurricane. 

The  lightning  flashed  from  cloud  to  cloud. 

And  tore  the  dark  in  two  ; 
A  jagged  flame,  a  single  jet 
Of  white  fire,  like  a  bayonet, 

That  pierced  his  eyeballs  through. 

Then  all  around  was  dark  again, 

And  blacker  than  before  ; 
But  in  that  single  flash  of  light 
The  captain  saw  a  fearful  sight. 

And  thought  of  the  oath  he  swore. 

For  right  ahead  lay  the  Ship  of  the  Dead, 

The  ghostly  Carmilhan ! 
Her  masts  were  stripped,  her  yards  were 

bare, 
And  on  her  bowsprit,  poised  in  air. 

Sat  the  Klaboterman. 

Her  crew  of  ghosts  was  all  on  deck. 
Or  clambering  up  the  shrouds  ; 

The  boatswain's  whistle,  the  captain's  hail, 

Were  like  the  piping  of  the  gale, 
And  thunder  in  the  clouds. 

And  close  behind  the  Carmilhan 

There  rose  up  from  the  sea, 
As  from  a  foundered  ship  of  stone, 
Three  bare  and  splintered  masts  alone  ; 

They  were  the  Chimneys  Three ! 

And  onward  dashed  the  Valdemar, 

And  leaped  into  the  dark  ; 
A  denser  mist,  a  colder  blast, 
A  little  shudder  and  she  had  passed 

Right  through  the  Phantom  Barque  i 


MY   FARE. 


00 


She  cleft  in  twain  the  shadowy  hulk, 

But  cleft  it  unaware  ; 
As  when,  careering  to  her  nest. 
The  sea-gull  severs  with  her  breast 

The  unresisting  air. 

Again  the  lightning  flashed ;  again 

They  saw  the  Carmilhan, 
Whole  as  before  in  hull  and  spar  ; 
But  now  on  board  of  the  Valdemar 

Stood  the  Klaboterman. 


And  they  all  knew  their  doom  was  sealed  ; 

They  knew  that  death  was  near  ; 
Some  prayed  who  never  prayed  before  ; 
And  some  they  wept,  and  some  they  swore. 

And  some  were  mute  with  fear. 

Then  suddenly  there  came  a  shock, 

And  louder  than  wind  or  sea 
A  cry  burst  from  the  crew  on  deck. 
As  she  dashed  and  crashed,  a  hopeless  wreck. 

Upon  the  Chimneys  Three 


The  storm  and  night  were  passed,  the  light 

To  streak  the  east  began ; 
The  cabin-boy,  picked  up  at  sea, 
Survived  the  wreck,  and  only  he, 

To  tell  of  the  Carmilhan. 


MY   FARE. 


[By  Geo.  Manville  Fenn.] 

^[f^l^ON'T  you  make  a  mistake  now,  and 

p  think  I'm  not  a  working-man ;  because 

ai  I  am.     Don't  you  run  away  with  the 

idea  that  because  I  go  of  a  morning  and 


x)«i  find  my  horse  and  cab  waiting  ready  cleaned 

^     for  me,  and  1  jumps  up  and  drives  off,  as  I 

I       don't  work  as  hard  as  any  mechanic;  because 

I  do  ;  and  I  used  to  work  harder,  for  it  used 

to  be  Sunday  and  week-days,  till  the  missus  and 

me  laid  our  heads  together,  and  said  if  we  couldn't 

live  on  six  days'  work  a  week  at  cabbing,  we'd  try 

something  else ;  so  now  I  am  only  a  six  days'  man 

— Hansom  cab,  V.R.,  licensed  to  carry  two  persons. 

None  o'  your  poor,  broken-kneed  knackers  for 

me.    I  takes  my  money  in  to  the  governor  regular, 

and  told  him  flat  that  if  I  couldn't  have  a  decent 

horse  I  wouldn't  drive ;  and  I  spoke  a  bit  sharp, 

having  worked  for  him  ten  years. 

"  Take  your  chice,  Steve  Wilkins,"  he  says ;  and 
I  took  it,  and  drove  Kangaroo,  the  wall-eyed  horse 
with  a  rat  tail. 

I  had  a  call  one  day  off  the  stand  by  the  Found- 
ling, and  has  to  go  into  New  Ormond  Street,  close 
by  ;  and  I  takes  up  an  old  widow  lady  and  her 
daughter— as  beautiful  a  girl  of  seventeen  or 
eighteen  as  ever  I  set  eyes  on,  but  so  weak  that  I 
had  to  go  and  help  her  down  to  the  cab,  when  she 
thanked  me  so  sweetly  that  I  couldn't  help  looking 
again  and  again,  for  it  was  a  thing  I  wasn't  used  to. 
"  Drive  out  towards  the  country,  cabman,  the 
nearest  way,"  says  the  old  lady;  "and  when  we 
want  to  turn  back,  I'll  speak." 

"Poor  gal!"  I  says,  "she's  an  invalid.  She's 
just  such  a  one  as  my  Fan  would  have  been  if 
she'd  lived;"  and  I  says  this  to  myself  as  I  gets 


on  tp  my  box,  feeling  quite  soft;  for  though  I 
knew  my  gal  wouldn't  have  been  handsome,  what 
did  that  matter  1     I  didn't  like  to  lose  her. 

"Let's  see,"  I  says  again,  "she  wants  fresh  air. 
We'll  go  up  the  hill,  and  through  Hampstead;" 
and  I  touches  Kangaroo  on  the  flank,  and  away  we 
goes,  and  I  picks  out  all  the  nicest  bits  I  could, 
and  when  I  comes  across  a  pretty  bit  of  view  I 
pulls  up,  and  pretends  as  there's  a  strap  wanted 
tightening,  or  a  hoof  picking,  or  a  fresh  knot  at  the 
end  of  the  whip,  and  so  on.  Then  I  goes  pretty 
quickly  along  the  streety  bits,  and  walks  very  slowly 
along  the  green  lanes ;  and  so  we  goes  on  for  a 
good  hour,  when  the  old  lady  pushes  the  lid  open 
with  her  parasol,  and  tells  me  to  turn  back. 

"All  right,  mum,"  I  says;  and  takes  'em  back 
another  way,  allers  following  the  same  plan  ;  and 
at  last  pulls  up  at  the  house  where  I  supposed  they 
was  lodgers,  for  that's  a  rare  place  for  lodgings 
about  there. 

I  has  the  young  lady  leaning  on  my  arm  when 
she  gets  out,  and  when  she  was  at  the  door  she 
says,  "  Thank  you  ! "  again,  so  sweetly  and  sadly 
that  it  almost  upset  me.  But  the  old  lady  directly 
after  asked  me  the  fare,  and  I  tells  her,  and  she 
gives  me  sixpence  too  much,  and  though  I  wanted 
to  pocket  it,  I  wouldn't,  but  hands  it  back. 

"  Thank  you,  cabman,"  she  says,  "that's  for  being 
so  kind  and  attentive  to  my  poor  child." 

"  God  bless  her,  mum,"  I  says,  "  I  don't  want 
paying  for  that." 

Then  she  smiles  quite  pleasant,  and  asks  me  if 
it  would  be  worth  my  while  to  call  again  the  next 
aftarnoon  if  it  was  fine,  and  I  says  it  would  ;  and 
next  day,  just  in  the  same  way,  T  goes  right  off 


56 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


past  Primrose  Hill,  and  seeing  as  what  they  wanted 
was  the  fresh  air,  1  makes  the  best  o'  my  way  right 
out,  and  then,  when  we  was  amongst  the  green 
trees,  Kangaroo  and  me  takes  it  easy,  and  just 
saunters  along.  Going  up  hill  I  walks  by  his  head, 
and  picks  at  the  hedges,  while  them  two,  seeing  as 
I  took  no  notice  of  'em,  took  no  notice  o'  me.  I 
mean,  you  know,  treated  me  as  if  we  was  old 
friends,  and  asked  me  questions  about  the  different 
places  we  passed,  and  so  on. 

Bimeby  I  drives  'em  back,  and  the  old  lady  again 
wanted  to  give  me  something  extra  for  what  she 
called  my  kind  consideration  ;  but  "  No,  Stevey," 
I  says  to  myself;  "if  you  can't  do  a  bit  o'  kindness 
without  being  paid  for  it,  you'd  better  put  up  the 


her  poor  mother  a  standing  there  with  the  tears  in 
her  eyes,  I  had  to  hurry  her  in,  and  get  up  on  to 
my  seat  as  quick  as  I  could,  to  keep  from  breaking 
down  myself. 

Poor  gal !  always  so  loving  and  kind  to  all  about 
her — always  thanking  one  so  sweetly,  and  looking 
all  the  while  so  much  like  what  one  would  think 
an  angel  would  look — it  did  seem  so  pitiful  to  feel 
her  get  lighter  and  lighter  week  by  week — so  feeble, 
that  at  last  I  used  to  go  upstairs  to  fetch  her,  and 
always  carried  her  down  like  a  child. 

Then  she  used  to  laugh,  and  say  "  Don't  let  me 
fall,  Stephen"— for  they  got  to  call  me  by  my 
name,  and  to  know  the  missus,  by  her  coming  in  to 
help  a  bit ;  for  the  old  lady  asked  me  to  recom- 


•A   STRAP  WANTED    TIGHTENIBG." 


shutters,  and  take  to  some  other  trade."  So  I 
wouldn't  have  it,  and  the  old  lady  thought  I  was 
offended ;  but  I  laughed,  and  told  her  as  the  young 
lady  had  paid  me  ;  and  so  she  had  with  one  of  her 
sad  smiles,  and  I  said  I'd  be  there  again  nex'  day 
if  it  was  fine. 

And  so  I  was  ;  and  so  we  went  on  day  after  day, 
and  week  after  week ;  and  I  could  see  that,  though 
the  sight  of  the  country  and  the  fresh  air  brightened 
the  poor  girl  up  a  bit,  yet  she  was  getting  weaker 
and  weaker,  so  that  at  last  I  half  carried  her  to  the 
cab  and  back  again  after  the  ride.  One  day  while 
I  was  waiting,  the  servant  teUs  me  that  they 
wouldn't  stay  in  town,  only  on  account  of  a  great 
doctor,  as  they  went  to  see  at  first,  but  who  came 
to  them  now ;  and  last  of  all,  when  I  went  to  the 
house  I  used  always  to  be  in  a  fidget  for  fear  the 
poor  gal  should  be  too  iU  to  come  out.  Biit  no ; 
month  after  month  she  kep'  on;  and  when  I  helped 
her,  used  to  smile  so  sweetly  and  talk  so  about  the 
trouble  she  gave  me,  that  one  day,  feeling  a  bit 
Jow,  I  turned  quite  silly ;  and  happening  to  look  at 


mend  'em  an  honest  woman,  and  I  knowed  none 
honester  than  my  wife.  And  so  it  was  with  every- 
body—it didn't  matter  who  it  was — they  all  loved 
the  poor  gal ;  and  I've  had  the  wife  come  home  and 
sit  and  talk  about  her,  and  about  our  Fanny  as 
died,  till  she's  been  that  upset  she's  cried  terribly. 

Autumn  came  in  werry  wet  and  cold,  and  there 
was  an  end  to  my  jobs  there.  Winter  was  werry 
severe,  but  I  kep'  on  hearing  from  the  missus  how 
the  poor  gal  was — sometimes  better,  sometimes 
worse  :  and  the  missus  alius  shook  her  head  werry 
sadly  when  she  talked  about  her. 

Jennywerry  and  Feberwerry  went  by  terribly 
cold,  and  then  March  came  in  quite  warm  and  fine, 
so  that  things  got  so  fcrrard  you  could  buy  radishes 
wonderful  cheap  in  April ;  and  one  night  the  wife 
comes  home  and  tells  me  that  if  it  was  as  fine  nes^ 
day  as  it  had  been,  I  ^as  to  call  and  take  the  old 
lady  and  her  daughter  out. 

Nex'  day  was  splendid.  It  was  as  fine  a  spring 
day  as  ever  I  did  see,  and  I  sticks  a  daffydown- 
dilly  in  on  each  side  of  Kangaroo's  head,  and  then 


MY   FARE. 


o7 


spends  twopence  in  a  couple  o'  bunches  o'  wilets, 
and  pins  'em  in  on  the  side  where  the  poor  gal  used 
to  sit,  puts  clean  straw  in  the  bottom,  and  then 
drives  to  the  place  with  the  top  lid  open,  so  as 
to  sweeten  the  inside,  because  swells  had  been 
smoking  there  that  morning. 

"Jest  run  yer  sponge  and  leather  over  the  apron 
a  bit,  Buddy,"  I  says  to  our  waterman,  afore  I  left 
the  stand. 

"  Got  a  wedding  on  1 "  he  says,  seeing  how  per- 
tickler  I  was. 

"  There,  look  alive  ! "  I  says,  quite  snappish,  for 
I  didn't  feel  in  a  humour  to  joke ;  and  then,  when 
I'd  got  all  as  I  thought  right,  I  drives  up,  keeping 
the  lid  open,  as  I  said  afore. 

When  I  draws  up  I  puts  the  nose-bag  on  the  old 
horse,  for  him  to  amuse  himself  with,  and  so  as  I 
could  leave  him,  for  he  wouldn't  stir  an  inch  with 
that  bag  on  to  please  all  the  pleacemen  in  London. 
Then  I  rings,  and  waits,  and  at  last  gets  my  orders 
to  go  and  help  the  yoixng  lady  down. 

I  takes  off  my  hat,  wipes  my  shoes  well,  and 
goes  up,  and  there  she  was  waiting,  and  smiled  so 
pleasantly  again,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  me, 
as  though  I'd  been  a  friend,  instead  of  a  rough, 
weather-battered  street  cabman.  And  do  you 
know  what  I  did,  as  I  went  in  there,  with  my  eyes 
all  dim  at  seeing  her  so,  so  changed  1  Why,  I  felt 
as  if  I  ought  to  do  it,  and  I  bent  down  and  took 
her  beautiful  white  hand  in  mine,  and  kissed  it, 
and  left  a  big  tear  on  it ;  for  something  seemed  to 
say  so  plainly  that  she'd  soon  be  where  I  hoped 
my  own  poor  gal  was,  whom  I  always  say  we  lost, 
but  my  wife  says,  "  No,  not  lost,  for  she  is  ours 
still." 

She  was  so  light  now  that  I  carried  her  down  in 
a  minute  ;  and  when  she  was  in  the  cab  and  saw 
the  wilets,  she  took  'em  down,  and  held  'em  in  her 
hand,  and  nodded  and  smiled  again  at  me,  as 
though  she  thanked  me  for  them. 

"Go  the  same  way  as  you  went  first  time, 
Stephen,"  she  says. 

Well,  I  picked  out  all  the  quieter  bits,  and  took 
her  away  beyond  Hampstead ;  and  there,  in  the 
greenest  and  prettiest  spot  I  could  find,  I  pulls  up, 
and  sits  there  listening  to  the  soft  whispers  of  her 
voice,  and  feeling  somehow  that  it  was  for  the  last 
time. 


After  a  bit  I  goes  gently  on  again,  more  and 
more  towards  the  country,  where  the  hedges  were 
turning  beautiful  and  green,  and  all  looked  so 
bright  and  gay. 

Bimeby  I  stops  again,  for  there  was  a  pretty 
view,  and  you  could  see  miles  away.  Of  course  I 
didn't  look  at  them  if  I  could  help  it,  for  the  real 
secret  of  people  enjoying  a  ride  is  being  with  a 
driver  who  seems  no  more  to  'em  than  the  horse — 
a  man,  you  see,  who  knows  his  place.  But  I 
couldn't  help  just  stealing  one  or  two  looks  at  the 
inside  where  that  poor  gal  lay  back  in  the  corner 
looking  out  at  the  bright  spring-time,  and  holding 
them  two  bunches  of  wilets  close  to  her  face.  I  was 
walking  backwards  and  forwards  then,  patting  the 
horse  and  straightening  his  harness,  when  I  just 
catches  the  old  lady's  eye,  and  saw  she  looked 
rather  frightened,  and  she  leans  over  to  her  daughter 
and  calls  her  by  name  quickly  ;  but  the  poor  girl 
did  not  move,  only  stared  straight  out  at  the  blue 
sky,  and  smiled  so  softly  and  sweetly. 

I  didn't  want  no  telling  w^hat  to  do,  for  I  was  in 
my  seat  and  the  old  horse  flying  a'most  before  you 
could  have  counted  ten  ;  and  away  we  went,  full 
pace,  till  I  come  up  to  a  doctor's,  dragged  at  the 
bell,  and  had  him  up  to  the  cab  in  no  time  ;  and 
then  he  rode  on  the  footboard,  in  front  of  the 
apron,  with  the  shutters  let  down  ;  and  he  whis- 
pered to  me  to  drive  back  softly,  and  I  did. 
******** 

The  old  lady  has  lodged  with  us  ever  since,  for  I 
took  a  better  place  on  purpose,  and  my  missus 
always  attends  on  her.  She's  werry  fond  o'  talking 
with  my  wife  about  their  two  gals  who  have  gone 
before ;  but  though  I  often  take  her  for  a  drive 
over  the  old  spots,  she  never  says  a  word  to  me 
about  such  things ;  w^hile  soon  after  the  funeral  she 
told  Sarah  to  tell  me  as  the  wilets  were  not  taken 
from  the  poor  gal's  hand,  same  time  sending  me  a 
fi-pun  note  to  buy  a  suit  o'  mourning. 

Of  course  I  couldn't  wear  that  every  day,  but 
there  was  a  bit  o'  rusty  crape  on  my  old  shiny  hat 
not  such  a  werry  long  time  ago  ;  and  I  never  buy 
wilets  now,  for  as  they  lie  in  the  baskets  in  spring- 
time, sprinkled  with  the  drops  o'  bright  water,  they 
seem  to  me  to  have  tears  upon  'em,  and  make  me 
feel  sad  and  upset,  for  they  start  me  off  thinking 
about  "My  Fare." 


58 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS 


W 


TEN  MINUTES   WITH  PUCK. 

[From  "  Puck  on  Pegasus."*    By  H.  Cholmosdelev-Pennell.] 

HO  has  not  heard  of  fairy  Puck  1    That  merry  sprite,  immortalised  by  Shakespeare,  who  was 
wont  to — 

"Jest  to  Oberoii,  and  make  him  smile, 
"When  I  a  fat  and  bean-fed  horse  beguile, 
Neighing  in  likeness  of  a  filly  foal ; 
And  sometimes  lurk  I  in  a  gossip's  bowl, 
In  very  likeness  of  a  roasted  crab, 
And  when  she  drinks,  against  her  lips  I  bob," 

has  very  often  in  his  modern  representative  shown  that  he  can  be  quite  serious,  and  look  at  life  from 
life's  real  aspect ;  but  for  the  most  part  he  is  ready  to  bob  crab-like  fruits  of  fancy  against  the  lips  of 
those  who  read  his  little  collection  of  fanciful  verses.  Here  is  his  account  of  the  daily  trials  of 
a  dyspeptic — one  of  those  imfortunates  who  goes  about  the  world  talking  about  his  digestion,  when 
he  has  none  at  all,  or  scarcely  any.  Fancy,  please,  for  a  few  moments  the  yellow,  bilious-looking 
gentleman  going  into  a  London  eating-house  and  summoning  the  attendant,  who  answers  in  the  pert, 
cock-sparrow-like  fiishion  of  London  eating-house  waiters. 

"  Lunch,  sir  ?  yes-ser,  pickled  salmon, 

Cutlets,  kidneys,  greens,  and  " — 

"  Gammon  ! 

Have  you  got  no  wholesome  meat,  sir  ? 

Flesh  or  fowl  that  one  can  eat,  sir  ?  " 

"Eat,  sir?  yes-ser,  on  the  dresser. 

"Pork,  sir?"     "Pork,  sir,  I  detest,  sir." 

"  Lobsters?"     "Are  to  me  unblest,  sir.'' 

"Ducks  and  peas  ?"'     "I  can't  digest,  sir." 

"Puff,  sir?"     "Stuff,  sir!"     "Fish,  sir?"     "Pish, 

sir  !" 
"  Sausage  ?"     "  Sooner  eat  the  dish,  sir  !  " 
"Shrimps,  sir?  prawns,  sir?  crawfish?  winkle? 
Scallops  ready  in  a  twinkle  ? 
"Whelks  and  cockles,  crabs  to  follow  !  " 
"  Heav'ns,  nothing  I  can  swallow  !  " 
"Waiter  ! " 
"  Yes-sar.'* 
"Bread  for  twenty — 
I  shall  starve  in  midst  of  plenty  !  " 


"Eat,  sir?  tes-see." 


Poor  min,  he  is  to  be  pitied,  especially  as  he  is  self-condemned  to  bread,  and  most  probably  water ; 
but  Puck  is  harder  upon  the  man  who  stammers,  and.  is  accosted  by  a  wayfarer,  who  asks  to  be 
directed  to  Waterloo  Place,  and  is  thus  answered  :— 

""Wuw— Wuw— Wuw— "Wuw— Wuw— "VVuw— W — "Waterloo  Place?  yes,  you 
T— take  the  first  tut— tut— tut —turning  that  faces  you, 

Lul— left,  and  then  kuk— kuk— kuk— kuk — kuk— kuk— keep  up  Pall  Mall  till  you 
See  the  AVuw— AVuw— AVuw— AVuw — Zounds,  sir,  you'll  get  there  before  I  can  tell  it  you  !" 

It  is,  perhaps,  in  bad  taste  to  make  fun  of  an  affliction;  but  Puck  was  one  who  only  looked  at 
the  comic  side  of  things,  and  his  jests  Avere  so  light  and  merry,  so  free  from  cruel  malice,  that  those 
against  whom  they  are  directed  might  very  well  join  the  band  of  those  who  laugh.  And  really 
there  are  some  afflictions  that  are  naturally  so  droll  that  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  a  smile.  Think,  for 
instance,  of  the  gentleman  who,  through  carelessness  perhaps,  or  maybe  solely  through  the  ailment 
being  epidemic,  catches  that  terrible  sneezing,  nose-swelling,  eye-watering  kind  of  cold,  known  as  the 
influenza.  Puck  paints  one  such,  writing  a  poem  or  lay  full  of  lamentation^  about  his  lost,  lost  love, 
and  he  sighs  for  her,  speaking  through  his  "  dose,"  as  follows  : — 


"  O  doe,  doe  ! 

I  shall  dever  see  her  bore  ! 
Dever  bore  our  feet  shall  run 

The  beadows  as  of  yore  ! 
Dever  bore  with  byrtlj  boughs 

Her  tresses  shall  I  twide  — 


Dever  bore  her  bellow  voice 
Bake  belody  with  bide  I 

Dever  shall  we  lidger  bore 
Abid  the  flowers  at  dood. 

Dever  shall  we  gaze  at  dight 
L^pon  the  tedtder  bood ! 


*  London  •.  Chatto  and  Windus. 


TEN   MINUTES   WITH   PUCK. 


59 


Ho,  doe,  doe  ! 
Those  berry  tibes  have  flowd, 
Ad  I  shall  dever  see  her  bore, 
By  beautiful !  by  owd  ! 

"  Ho,  doe,  doe  ! 

I  shall  dever  see  her  bore  ; 
She  will  forget  be  id  a  bonth 

(Bost  x)robably  before). 
She  will  forget  the  byrtle  boughs, 

The  flowers  we  i)lucked  at  dood, 


Our  beetings  by  the  tedtder  stars, 

Our  gazings  od  the  bood  ; 
Ad  I  shall  dever  see  agaid 

The  Lily  ad  the  Eose, 
The  dabask  cheek  !  the  sdowy  brow  ! 

The  perfect  bouth  ad  dose  ! 
Ho,  doe,  doe  ! 
Those  berry  tibes  have  flowd, 
Ad  I  shall  dever  see  her  bore, 

By  beautiful !  by  owd  !  " 


But,  as  was  said  at  the  commencement  of  this  Ten  Minutes  with  Puck,  he  has  his  serious  moods, 
as  when  in  verse  he  describes  the  departure  of  the  night  mail  from  Euston  Square  Station  for  the  North, 
with  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  the  passengers,  the  closing  of  the  gates  just  as  the  red-coated  mail 
guards  are  handing  in  the  last  leather  bag  of  letters,  and  the  driver  and  stoker  stand  on  their 
hissing  engine,  waiting  for  the  whistle  to  chirrup  and  the  platform  inspector's  signal  to  start. 

It  is  a  case  of  moments  now,  the  engine  pants  hard,  the  last  shovel  of  coal  has  made  the  steam 
fly  screaming  through  the  safety-valve,  when  a  stentorian  voice  seems  to  echo  along  beneath  the  great 
glazed  roof  of  the  terminus,  shouting — 


' '  Now,   then,  take  your  seats  !   for  Glasgow  and  the 

North ; 
Chester  ! — Carlisle  ! — Holyhead,  — and  the  wild  Frith 

of  Forth  : 
Clap  on  the  steam,  and  sharp's  the  word. 
You  men  in  scarlet  cloth. " 

"  Are  there  any  more  pas— sengers. 
For  the  Night— Mail— to  the  North? 
Are  there  any  more  passengers  ?  " 

Yes,  three — but  they  can't  get  in — 
Too  late,  too  late  !     How  they  bellow  and  knock, 
They  might  as  well  try  to  soften  a  rock 

As  the  heart  of  that  fellow  in  green. 
For  the  Night  Mail  North?  what  ho  ! 
(No  use  to  struggle,  you  can't  get  thro'). 

My  young  and  lusty  one 
Whither  away  from  the  gorgeous  town  ? 
For  the  lake,  and  the  stream,  and  the  heather  brown, 

"  And  the  double-barrelled  gun  !  " 
For  the  Night  Mail  North,  I  say  ? — 

You  with  the  eager  eyes — 
You  with  the  haggard  face  and  pale  ! — 
From  a  ruined  hearth  and  a  starving  brood, 

"  A  crime  and  a  felon's  gaol  ! " 
For  the  Night  Mail  North,  old  man  ? 

Old  statue  of  despair — 
Why  tug  and  strain  at  the  iron  gate  ? 
''  My  daughter!  " 
Ha  !  too  late,  too  late  ! 

She  is  gone,  you  may  safely  swear  ; 
She  has  given  you  the  slip,  d'you  hear  ? 
She  has  left  you  alone  in  your  wrath, 
And  she's  off  and  away,  with  a  glorious  start. 
To  the  home  of  her  choice,  with  the  man  of  her  heart, 
By  the  Night  Mail  North  ! 


Wh— ish,  R— ush, 
Wh— ish,  R— ush— 

"What's  all  that  hullabaloo ? 
Keep  fast  the  gates  there — who  is  this 

That  insists  on  bursting  thro'  ?  " 
A  desperate  man  whom  none  may  withstand  ; 
For,  look,  there  is  something  clenched  in  his  hand, 
Tho'  the  bearer  is  ready  to  drop. 
He  waves  it  wildly  to  and  fro, 
And  hark  !  how  the  crowd  are  shouting  below 

"Back!" 
And  back  the  opposing  barriers  go. 
"A  repi-ieve for  the  Canoivjate  murderer,  ho  t 
In  the  Queen's  name — 
Stop. 

Another  has  confessed  the  a'ime." 
Whish — rush — whish — rush — - 
The  guard  has  caught  the  flutt'ring  sheet. 
Now  forward  and  northward  !  fierce  and  fleet. 
Thro'  the  mist,  and  the  dark,  and  the  driving  sleet 

As  if  life  and  death  were  in  it : 
'Tis  a  splendid  race  !  a  race  against  time. 

And  a  thousand  to  one  we  win  it : 
Look  at  those  flitting  ghosts — 
The  white-armed  finger-posts — 
If  we're  moving  the  eighth  of  an  inch,  I  say, 

We're  going  a  mile  a  minute  ! 
A  mile  a  minute — for  life  or  death — 
Away,  away  !  though  it  catches  one's  breath. 

The  man  shall  not  die  in  his  wrath. 
The  quivering  carriages  rock  and  reel — 
Hurrah  !  for  the  rush  of  the  grinding  steel ! 
The  thundering  crank,  and  the  mighty  wheel  I 

Are  there  any  more  pas— sengers 

For  the  Night— Mail— to  the  North  ? 


"  By  the  Night  Mail  North  !  " 


60 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


THE   TAMING   OF   THE    SHEEW. 

[Lamb's  "Tales  from  Shakespe^'e."] 


lATHARINE,  the  Shrew,  was  the 
eldest  daughter  of  Baptista,  a  rich 
gentleman  of  Padua.  She  was  a  lady 
of  such  an  ungovernable  spirit  and 
fiery  temper,  such  a  loud-tongued 
scold,  that  she  Avas  known  in  Padua 
no  other  name  than  Katharine  the 
rew.  It  seemed  very  unlikely,  indeed 
impossible,  that  any  gentleman  would  ever  be 
found  who  would  venture  to  marry  this  lady,  and 
therefore  Baptista  was  much  blamed  for  deferring 
his  consent  to  many  excellent  oflfers  that  were 
made  to  her  gentle  sister  Bianca,  putting  off  all 
Bianca's  suitors  with  this  excuse,  that  when  the 
eldest  sister  was  fairly  off  his  hands,  they  should 
have  free  leave  to  address  young  Bianca. 

It  happened,  however,  that  a  gentleman,  named 
Petnicio,  came  to  Padua  purposely  to  look  out  for 
a  wife,  who,  nothing  discouraged  by  these  reports 
of  Katharine's  temper,  and  hearing  she  was  rich 
and  handsome,  resolved  upon  marrying  this 
famous  termagant,  and  taming  her  into  a  meek 
and  manageable  wife.  And  truly  none  was  so  fit 
to  set  about  this  herculean  labour  as  Petrucio, 
whose  spirit  was  as  high  as  Katharine's,  and  ho 
was  a  witty  and  most  happy-tempered  humourist, 
and  withal  so  wise,  and  of  such  a  true  judgment, 
that  he  well  knew  how  to  feign  a  passionate  and 
furious  deportment,  when  his  spirits  were  so  calm 
that  himself  could  have  laughed  merrily  at  his 
own  angry  feigning  ;  for  his  natural  temper  was 
careless  and  easy ;  the  boisterous  air  he  assumed 
when  he  became  the  husband  of  Katharine  being 
but  in  sport,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  affected 
by  his  excellent  discernment  as  the  only  means  to 
overcome,  in  her  own  way,  the  passionate  ways  of 
the  furious  Katharine. 

A- courting  then  Petrucio  went  to  Katharine  the 
Shrew  ;  and  first  of  all  he  applied  to  Baptista,  her 
father,  for  leave  to  woo  his  gentle  daughter  Katha- 
rine, as  Petrucio  called  her,  saying,  archly,  that 
having  heard  of  her  bashful  modesty  and  mild 
behaviour,  he  had  come  from  Yerona  to  solicit  her 
love.  Her  father,  though  he  wished  her  married,  was 
forced  to  confess  Katharine  would  ill  answer  this 
character,  it  being  soon  apparent  of  what  manner 
of  gentleness  she  was  composed,  for  her  music- 
master  rushed  into  the  room  to  complain  that  the 
gentle  Katharine,  his  pupil,  had  broken  his  head 
with  her  lute,  for  presuming  to  find  faidt  with  her 
performance  ;  which  when  Petrucio  heard,  he  said, 
*'  It  is  a  brave  wench  ;  I  love  her  more  than  ever, 
and  long  to  have  some  chat  with  her  ;"  and  hurry- 
ing the  old  gentleman  for  a  positive  answer,  he 
said,  "  My  business  is  in  haste,  Signior  Baptista ; 


I  cannot  come  every  day  to  woo.  You  knew  my 
father  :  he  is  dead,  and  has  left  me  heir  to  all  his 
lands  and  goods.  Then  tell  me,  if  I  get  your 
daughter's  love,  what  dowry  you  will  give  with 
her."  Baptista  thought  his  manner  was  rather 
blunt  for  a  lover  ;  but  being  glad  to  get  Katharine 
married,  he  answered  that  he  would  give  her 
twenty  thousand  crowns  for  her  dowry,  and  half 
his  estate  at  his  death  :  so  this  odd  match  was 
quickly  agreed  on,  and  Baptista  went  to  apprise 
his  shrewish  daughter  of  her  lover's  addresses,  and 
sent  her  in  to  Petrucio  to  listen  to  his  suit. 

In  the  meantime  Petrucio  was  settling  with 
himself  the  mode  of  courtship  he  should  pursue  ; 
and  he  said,  "I  will  woo  her  with  some  spirit 
when  she  comes.  If  she  rails  at  me,  why  then  I  will 
tell  her  she  sings  as  sweetly  as  a  nightingale  ;  and 
if  she  frowns,  I  will  say  she  looks  as  clear  as 
roses  newly  washed  with  dew.  If  she  will  not 
speak  a  word,  I  will  praise  the  eloquence  of  her 
language  ;  and  if  she  bids  me  leave  her,  I  will 
give  her  thanks  as  if  she  bid  me  stay  with  her  a 
week."  Now  the  stately  Katharine  entered,  and 
Petrucio  first  addressed  her  with,  "  Good  morrow, 
Kate  ;  for  that  is  your  name,  I  hear."  Katharine, 
not  liking  this  plain  salutation,  said  disdainfully, 
"  They  call  me  Katharine  who  do  speak  to 
me."  "You  lie,"  replied  the  lover  ;  "for  you  are 
called  plain  Kate,  and  bonny  Kate,  and  some- 
times Kate  the  Shrew;  but,  Kate,  you  are  the 
prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom,  and  therefore, 
Kate,  hearing  your  mildness  praised  in  every  town, 
I  am  come  to  woo  you  for  my  wife." 

A  strange  courtship  they  made  of  it ;  she  in 
loud  and  angry  terms  showing  him  how  justly  she 
had  gained  the  name  of  Shrew,  while  he  still 
praised  her  sweet  and  courteous  words,  till  at 
length,  hearing  her  father  coming,  he  said  (in- 
tending to  make  as  quick  a  wooing  as  possible), 
"  Sweet  Katharine,  let  us  set  this  idle  chat  aside, 
for  your  father  has  consented  that  you  shall  be 
my  wife,  your  dowry  is  agreed  on,  and  whether 
you  will  or  no,  I  will  marry  you." 

And  now  Baptista  entering,  Petrucio  told  him 
his  daughter  had  received  him  kindly,  and  that 
she  had  promised  to  be  married  the  next  Sunday. 
This  Katharine  denied,  saying  she  would  rather 
see  him  hanged  on  Sunday,  and  reproached  her 
father  for  wishing  to  wed  her  to  such  a  mad-cap 
ruffian  as  Petrucio.  Petrucio  desired  her  father 
not  to  regard  her  angry  words,  for  they  had  agreed 
she  should  seem  reluctant  before  him,  but  that 
when  they  were  alone  he  had  found  her  very  fond 
and  loving :  and  he  said  to  her,  "  Give  me  your 
hand,  Kate ;  I  will  go  to  Venice  tjD  buy  you  fine 


THE   TAMING   OF  THE   SHREW. 


61 


apparel  against  our  wedding-day.  Provide  the 
feast,  father,  and  bid  the  wedding  guests.  I 
will  be  sure  to  bring  rings,  fine  array,  and 
rich  clothes,  that  my  Katharine  may  be  fine  : 
and  kiss  me,  Kate,  for  we  will  be  married  on 
Sunday." 

On  the  Sunday  all  the  wedding  guests  were 
assembled,  but  they  waited  long  before  Petrucio 
oame,  and  Katharine  wept  for  vexation  to  think 
that  Petrucio  had  only  been  making  a  jest  of  her. 
At  last,  however,  he  appeared,  but  he  brought 
none  of  the  bridal  finery  he  had  promised 
Katharine,  nor  was  he  dressed  himself  like  a  bride- 
groom, but  in  strange  disordered  attire,  as  if  he 
meant  to  make  a  sport  of  the  serious  business  he 


sop  which  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  glass  full  in 
the  sexton's  face,  giving  no  other  reason  for  this 
strange  act  than  that  the  sexton's  beard  grew  thin 
and  hungerly,  and  seemed  to  ask  the  sop  as  he  was 
drinking.  Never  sure  was  there  such  a  mad 
marriage  :  but  Petrucio  did  but  put  this  wildness 
on,  the  better  to  succeed  in  the  plot  he  had  formed 
to  tame  his  shrewish  wife. 

Baptista  had  provided  a  sumptuous  marriage 
feast ;  but,  when  they  returned  from  church, 
Petrucio,  taking  hold  of  Katharine,  declared  his 
intention  of  carrying  his  wife  home  instantly ;  and 
no  remonstrance  of  his  father-in-law,  or  angry 
words  of  the  enraged  Katharine,  could  make  him 
change  his  purpose ;  he  claimed  a  husband's  right 


'  Threw  the  meat  about  the  floo.-!."     {Drawn  by  A.  Laby.) 


came  about ;  and  his  servant,  and  the  very  horses 
on  which  they  rode,  were  in  like  manner  in  mean 
and  fantastic  fashion  habited. 

Petrucio  could  not  be  persuaded  to  change  his 
dress  ;  he  said  Katharine  was  to  be  married  to 
liim,  and  not  to  his  clothes  ;  and  finding  it  was  in 
vain  to  argue  with  him,  to  the  church  they  went ; 
he  still  behaving  in  the  same  mad  way,  for  when 
the  priest  asked  Petrucio  if  Katharine  should  be 
his  wife,  he  swore  so  loud  that  she  should,  that,  all 
amazed,  the  priest  let  fall  his  book,  and  as  he 
stooped  to  take  it  vip,  this  mad-brained  bridegroom 
gave  him  such  a  cufF  that  down  fell  the  priest  and 
his  book  again.  And  all  the  while  they  were 
being  married  he  stamped  and  swore  so  that  the 
high-spirited  Katharine  trembled  and  shook  with 
fear.  After  the  ceremony  was  over,  while  they 
were  yet  in  the  church,  he  called  for  wine,  and 
drank  a  loud  health  to  the  company,  and  threw  a 


to  dispose  of  his  wife  as  he  pleased,  and  away  he 
hurried  Katharine  off :  he  seeming  so  daring  and 
resolute  that  no  one  dared  attempt  to  stop  him. 

Petrucio  mounted  his  wife  upon  a  miserable 
horse,  lean  and  lank,  which  he  had  picked  out  for 
the  purpose,  and  himself  and  his  servant  no  better 
mounted ;  they  journeyed  on  through  rough  and 
miry  ways,  and  ever  when  this  horse  of  Katharine's 
stumbled,  he  would  storm  and  swear  at  the  poor 
jaded  beast,  who  could  scarce  crawl  under  his 
burden,  as  if  he  were  the  most  passionate  man 
alive. 

At  length,  after  a  weary  journey,  during  which 
Katharine  had  heard  nothing  but  the  wild  ravings 
of  Petrucio  at  the  servant  and  the  horses,  they 
arrived  at  his  house.  Petrucio  welcomed  her 
kindly  to  her  home  ;  but  he  resolved  she  should 
have  neither  rest  nor  food  that  night.  The  tables 
were  spread,  and  supper  soon  served ;  but  Petrucio, 


62 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


pretending  to  find  fault  with  every  dish,  threw  the 
meat  about  the  floor,  and  ordered  the  servants  to 
remove  it  away  :  and  all  this  he  did,  as  he  said,  in 
love  for  his  Katharine,  that  she  might  not  eat 
meat  that  was  not  well  dressed.  And  when 
Katharine,  weary  and  supperless,  retired  to  rest, 
he  found  the  same  fault  with  the  bed,  throwing 
the  pillows  and  bed-clothes  about  the  room,  so 
that  she  was  forced  to  sit  down  in  a  chair,  where, 
if  she  chanced  to  drop  asleep,  she  was  presently 
awakened  by  the  loud  voice  of  her  husband,  storm- 
ing at  the  servants  for  the  ill-making  of  his  wife's 
bridal-bed. 

The  next  day  Petrucio  pursued  the  same  course, 
stiU  speaking  kind  words  to  Katharine,  but  when 
she  attempted  to  eat,  finding  fault  with  every- 
thing that  was  set  before  her,  throwing  the  break- 
fast on  the  floor  as  he  had  done  the  supper ;  and 
Katharine,  the  hauglity  Katharine,  was  fain  to  beg 
the  servants  would  bring  her  secretly  a  morsel  of 
food ;  but  they  being  instructed  by  Petrucio, 
replied,  they  dare  not  give  her  anything  unknown 
to  their  master.  "Ah,"  said  she,  "did  he  marry 
me  to  famish  me  ?  Beggars  that  come  to  my 
father's  door  have  food  given  them  ;  but  I,  who 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  entreat  for  anything, 
am  starved  for  want  of  food,  giddy  for  want  of 
sleep,  with  oaths  kept  waking,  and  with  brawling 
fed ;  and  that  which  vexes  me  more  than  all,  he 
does  it  under  the  name  of  perfect  love,  pretending 
that  if  I  sleep  or  eat,  it  were  present  death  to  me." 
Here  her  solilocjuy  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Petrucio  :  he,  not  meaning  she  should  be  quite 
starved,  had  brought  her  a  small  portion  of  meat, 
and  he  said  to  her,  "  How  fares  my  sweet  Kate  ! 
Here,  love,  you  see  how  diligent  I  am,  I  have 
dressed  your  meat  myself.  I  am  sure  this  kindness 
merits  thanks.  What,  not  a  word?  Nay,  then, 
you  love  not  the  meat,  and  all  the  pains  I  have 
taken  is  to  no  purpose."  He  then  ordered  the 
servant  to  take  the  dish  away.  Extreme  hunger, 
which  had  abated  the  pride  of  Katharine,  made 
her  say,  though  angered  to  the  heart,  "  I  pray  you 
let  it  stand."  But  this  was  not  all  Petrucio 
intended  to  bring  her  to,  and  he  replied,  "The 
poorest  service  is  repaid  with  thanks,  and  so  shall 
mine,  before  you  touch  the  meat."  On  this 
Katharine  brought  out  a  reluctant  "  I  thank  you, 
sir."  And  now  he  suffered  her  to  make  a  slender 
meal,  saying,  "  Much  good  may  it  do  your  gentle 
heart,  Kate  ;  eat  apace !  And  now,  my  honey 
love,  we  will  return  to  your  father's  house,  and 
revel  it  as  bravely  as  the  best,  with  silken  coats 
and  caps  and  golden  rings,  with  ruff's  and  scarfs 
and  fans  and  double  change  of  finery;"  and  to 
make  her  believe  he  really  intended  to  give  her 
these  gay  things,  he  called  in  a  tailor  and  a  haber- 
dasher, who  brought  some  new  clothes  he  had 
ordered  for  her,  and  then  giving  her  plate  to  the 


servant  to  take  away  before  she  had  half  satisfied 
her  hunger,  he  said,  "  What,  have  you  dined  1 " 
The  haberdasher  presented  a  cap,  saying,  "Here  is 
the  cap  your  worship  bespoke; "  on  which  Petrucio 
began  to  storm  afresh,  saying,  the  cap  wa.s. 
moulded  on  a  porringer,  and  that  it  was  no  bigger 
than  a  cockle  or  walnut  shell,  desiring  the 
haberdasher  to  take  it  away  and  make  a  bigger. 
Katherine  said,  "I  will  have  this;  all  gentlewomen 
wear  such  caps  as  these."  "  When  you  ai-e  gentle," 
replied  Petrucio,  "  you  shall  have  one  too,  and  not 
till  then."  The  meat  Katharine  had  eaten  had  a 
little  revived  her  fallen  spirits,  and  she  said,, 
"Why,  sir,  I  trust  I  may  have  leave  to  speak, 
and  speak  I  will :  I  am  no  child,  no  babe ;  your 
betters  have  endured  to  hear  me  say  my  mind  ; 
and  if  you  cannot,  you  had  better  stop  your  ears."" 
Petrucio  would  not  hear  these  angry  words,  for  he 
had  happily  discovered  a  better  way  of  managing, 
his  wife  than  keeping  up  a  jangling  argument  with 
her ;  therefore  his  answer  was,  "  Why,  you  say 
true ;  it  is  a  paltry  cap,  and  I  love  you  for  not 
liking  it."  "Love  me,  or  love  me  not,"  said 
Katharine,  "I  like  the  cap,  and  I  will  have  this 
cap  or  none."  "You  say  you  wish  to  see  the 
gown,"  said  Petnxcio,  still  affecting  to  misunder- 
stand her.  The  tailor  then  came  forward,  and 
showed  her  a  fine  gown  he  had  made  for  her. 
Petrucio,  whose  intent  was  that  she  should  have 
neither  cap  nor  gown,  found  as  much  fault  with 
that.  "  O  mercy,  Heaven  !  "  said  he,  "what  stuff  is 
here  !  What,  do  you  call  this  a  sleeve  1  it  is  like  a 
demi-cannou,  cai-ved  up  and  down  like  an  apple 
tart."  The  tailor  said,  "You  bid  me  make  it 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  times ; "  and 
Katharine  said  she  never  saw  a  better  fashioned 
gown.  This  was  enough  for  Petrucio,  and  privately 
desiring  these  people  might  be  paid  for  their  goods, 
and  excuses  made  to  them  for  the  seemingly 
strange  treatment  he  bestowed  upon  them,  he 
with  fierce  words  and  furious  gestures  drove  the 
tailor  and  the  haberdasher  out  of  the  room ;  and 
then,  turning  to  Katharine,  he  said,  "  Well,  come, 
my  Kate,  we  Avill  go  to  your  father's  even  in  these 
mean  garments  we  now  wear."  And  then  he 
ordered  his  horses,  affirming  they  should  reach 
Baptista's  house  by  dinner-time,  for  that  it  was 
but  seven  o'clock.  Now  it  was  not  early  morning, 
but  the  veiy  middle  of  the  day,  when  he  spoke 
this  ;  therefore  Katharine  ventured  to  say,  though 
modestly,  being  almost  overcome  by  the  vehemence 
of  his  manner,  "  I  dare  assure  you,  sir,  it  is  two 
o'clock,  and  will  be  supper-time  before  we  get 
there."  But  Petrucio  meant  that  she  should  be  so 
completely  subdued,  that  she  should  assent  to 
everything  he  said,  before  he  carried  her  to  her 
father ;  and  therefore,  as  if  he  were  lord  even  of 
the  sun,  and  could  command  the  hours,  he  said  it 
should  be  what  time  he  pleased  to  have  it,  before 


THE  TAMING  OF  THE  SHREW. 


G3 


he  set  forward  ;  "  For,"  said  he,   "  whatever  I  say 
or  do,  you  still  are  crossing  it.     I  will  not  go  to- 
day, and  when  I  go  it  shall  be  what  o'clock  I  say 
it    is."      Another  day  Katharine  was   forced   to 
practise  her  newly-found  obedience ;  and  not  till 
he  had  brought  her  proud  spirit  to  such  a  perfect 
subjection  that  she  dared  not  remember  there  was 
such  a  word  as  contradiction,  would  Petrucio  allow 
her  to  go  to  her  father's  house  ;  and  even  while 
they  were  upon  their  journey  thither,  she  was  in 
danger  of  being  turned  back  again,  only  because 
she  happened  to  hint  it  was  the  sun,  when  he 
affimied    the  •  moon   shone  brightly  at   noonday. 
"  Now,  by  my  mother's  son,"  said  he,  "  and  that  is 
myself,  Ut  shall  be  the  moon,  or  stars,  or  what  I 
list,  before  I  journey  to  your  father's  house."     He 
then  made  as  if  he  were  going  back  again ;  but  j 
Katharine,  no  longer   Katharine  the   Shrew,  but  ■ 
the   obedient  wife,  said,  "Let  us  go  forward,  I 
pray,  now  we  have  come  so  far,  and  it  shall  be  the 
sun,  or  moon,  or  Avhat  you  please  ;    and  if  you 
please  to  call  it  a  rush  candle  henceforth,  I  vow  it 
shall  be  so  for  me."    This  he  was  resolved  to  prove, 
therefore  he  said  again,  "I  say.  It  is  the  moon." 
*'I    knov/    it    is   the  moon,"   replied   Katharine. 
■"You  lie,  it  is  the  blessed  sun,"  said  Petrucio. 
■"  Then  it  is  the  blessed  sun,"  replied  Katharine ; 
■'•  but  sun  it  is  not,  when  you  say  it  is  not.     What 
you  will  have  it  named,  even  so  it  is,  and  so  it 
ever    shall    be    for    Katharine."      Now   then  he 
suffered  her  to  proceed  on  her  journey,  but  further 
to  try  if    this  yielding  humour  woidd  last,   he 
addressed  an  old  gentleman  they  met  on  the  road 
as  if  he  had  been  a  young  woman,  saying  to  him, 
■"  Good    morrow,    gentle    mistress ; "    and    asked 
Katharine  if  she  had  ever  beheld  a  fairer  gentle- 
Avoman,  praising  the  red  and  white  of  the  old  man's 
cheeks,   and    comparing  his  eyes  to  two  bright 
stars  ;  and  again  he  addressed  him,  saying,  "  Fair 
lovely  maid,  once  more  good  day  to  you ! "  and 
said  to  his  wife,  "  Sweet  Kate,  embrace  her  for  her 
beauty's  sake."     The  now  completely  vanquished 
Katharine  quickly  adopted  her  husband's  opinion, 
and  made  her  speech  in  like  sort  to  the  old  gentle- 
man, saying  to  him,  "  Young  budding  virgin,  you 
are  fair,  and  fresh,  and  sweet  :   whither  are  you 
going,  and  where  is  your  dwelling  1     Happy  are 
the  parents  of  so  fair  a  child."   "Why,  how  now, 
Kate  1 "  said  Petrucio,  "  I  hope  you  are  not  mad. 
This    is    a    man,   old    and  wrinkled,   faded   and 
withered,  and  not  a  maiden,  as  you  say  he  is."    On 
this  Katharine  said,  "  Pardon  me,  old  gentleman, 
the  sun  has  so  dazzled  my  eyes,  that  everything  I 
look  on  seemeth  green.     Now  I  perceive  you  are  a 
reverend  father  :  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for 
my  sad  mistake."     "  Do,  good  old  grandsire,"  said 
Petrucio,  "  and  tell  us  which  way  you  are  travel- 
ling.    We  shall  be  glad  of  your  good  company,  if 
you    are   going  our  way."      The   old  gentleman 


replied,  "  Fair  sir,  and  you,  my  merry  mistress, 
your  strange  encounter  has  much  amazed  me.  My 
name  is  Vincentio,  and  I  am  going  to  visit  a  son 
of  mine  who  lives  at  Padua."  Then  Petrucio  knew 
the  old  gentleman  to  be  the  father  of  Lucentio, 
a  young  gentleman  who  was  to  be  married  to 
Baptista's  younger  daughter,  Bianca,  and  he  made 
Vincentio  very  happy  by  telling  him  the  rich 
marriage  his  son  was  about  to  make  ;  and  they  all 
journeyed  on  pleasantly  together  till  they  came  to 
Baptista's  house,  where  there  was  a  large  company 
assembled  to  celebrate  the  wedding  of  Bianca  and 
Lucentio,  Baptista  having  willingly  consented  to 
the  marriage  of  Bianca  when  he  had  got  Katharine 
off  his  hands. 

When  they  entered,  Baptista  welcomed  them  to 
the  wedding  feast,  and  there  was  present  also 
another  newly-married  pair. 

Lucentio,  Bianca's  husband,  and  Hortensio,  the 
other  new-man-ied  man,  could  not  forbear  sly  jests, 
which  seemed  to  hint  at  the  shrewish  disposition 
of  Petrucio's  wife,  and  these  fond  bridegrooms 
seemed  highly  pleased  with  the  mild  tempers  of 
the  ladies  they  had  chosen,  laughing  at  Petrucio 
for  his  less  fortunate  choice.  Petrucio  took  little 
notice  of  their  jokes  till  the  ladies  were  retired 
after  dinner,  and  then  he  perceived  Baptista 
himself  joined  in  the  laugh  against  him  :  for  when 
Petrucio  affirmed  that  his  wife  would  prove  more 
obedient  than  theirs,  the  father  of  Katharine  said, 
"Now,  in  good  sadness,  son  Petrucio,  I  fear  you 
have  got  the  veriest  shrew  of  all."  "Well,"  said 
Petrucio,  "  I  say  no,  and  therefore  for  assurance 
that  I  speak  the  truth,  let  us  each  one  send  for  his 
wife,  and  he  whose  wife  is  most  obedient  to  come 
at  first  when  she  is  sent  for,  shall  win  a  wager 
which  we  will  propose."  To  this  the  other  two 
husbands  willingly  consented,  for  they  were  quite 
confident  that  their  gentle  wives  would  prove  more 
obedient  than  the  headstrong  Katharine ;  and 
they  i)roposed  a  wager  of  twenty  crowns,  but 
Petrucio  merrily  said,  he  would  lay  as  much  as 
that  upon  his  hawk  or  hound,  but  twenty  times  as 
much  upon  his  wife.  Lucentio  and  Hortensio 
raised  the  wager  to  a  hundred  crowns,  and  Lucentio 
first  sent  his  servant  to  desire  Bianca  would  come 
to  him.  But  the  servant  returned  and  said,  "  Sir, 
my  mistress  sends  you  word  she  is  busy  and 
cannot  come."  "  How,"  said  Petrucio,  "  does  she 
say  she  is  busy  and  cannot  comel  Is  that  an 
answer  for  a  wife  1 "  Then  they  laughed  at  him, 
and  said,  it  would  be  well  if  Katharine  did  not 
send  him  a  worse  answer.  And  now  it  was 
Hortensio's  turn  to  send  for  his  wife  ;  and  he  said 
to  his  servant,  "  Go,  and  entreat  my  wife  to  come 
to  me."  "Oh,  ho!  entreat  her!"  said  Petrucio. 
"  Nay,  then,  she  needs  must  come."  "I  am  afraid, 
sir,"  said  Hortensio,  "your  wife  will  not  be 
entreated."     But    presently  this    civil    husband 


64 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


looked  a  little  blank  when  the  servant  returned 
without  his  mistress  ;  and  he  said  to  him,  "  How 
now !  Where  is  my  wife  1 "  "  Sir,"  said  the 
servant,  "  my  mistress  says  you  have  some  goodly 
jest  in  hand,  and  therefore  she  will  not  come.  She 
bids  you  come  to  her."  "  Worse  and  worse ! "  said 
Petrucio  ;  and  then  he  sent  his  servant,  saying, 
"  Sirrah,  go  to  your  mistress,  and  teU  her  I  com- 
mand her  to  come  to  me."  The  company  had 
scarcely  time  to  think  she  would  not  obey  this 
summons,  when  Baptista,  all  in  amaze,  exclaimed, 
"  Now,  by  my  hollidam,  here  comes  Kathaiune !  " 
and  she  entered,  saying  meekly  to  Petrucio, 
"  What  is  your  will,  sir,  that  you  send  for  me  1 " 
"Where  is  your  sister  and  Hortensio's  wife] "  said 
he.  Katharine  replied,  "They  sit  conferring  by 
the  parlour  fire."  "  Go,  fetch  them  hither  ! "  said 
Petrucio.  Away  went  Katharine,  without  reply,  to 
perform  her  husband's  command.  "Here  is  a 
wonder,"  said  Lucentio,  "if  you  talk  of  a  wonder." 
"And  so  it  is,"  said  Hortensio  ;  "  I  marvel  what  it 
bodes."  "Marry,  peace  it  bodes,"  said  Petrucio, 
"  and  love,  and  quiet  Hfe,  and  right  supremacy ; 
and  to  be  short,  everything  that  is  sweet  and 
happy."  Katharine's  father,  overjoyed  to  see  this 
reformation  in  his  daughter,  said,  "Now,  fair 
befall  thee,  son  Petrucio !  you  have  won  the  wager, 
and  I  will  add  another  twenty  thousand  crowns  to 
her  dowry,  as  if  she  were  another  daugliter,  for 


she  is  changed  as  if  she  had  never  been."  "Nay," 
said  Petrucio,  "I  will  win  the  wager  better  yet, 
and  show  more  signs  of  her  new-built  virtue  and 
obedience."  Katharine  now  entering  with  the  two 
ladies,  he  continued,  "  See  where  she  comes  and 
brings  your  froward  wives  as  prisoners  to  her 
womanly  persuasion.  Katharine,  that  cap  of  yours 
does  not  become  you  ;  off  with  that  bauble,  and 
throw  it  under  foot."  Katharine  instantly  took 
off  her  cap,  and  threw  it  down.  "  Lord  !  "  said 
Hortensio's  wife,  "  may  I  never  have  a  cause  to 
sigh  till  I  am  brought  to  such  a  silly  pass  !  "  And 
Bianca,  she  too  said,  "  Fie,  what  foolish  duty  call 
you  this  ? "  On  this  Bianca's  husband  said  to  her, 
"  I  wish  your  duty  were  as  foolish  too !  The 
wisdom  of  your  duty,  fair  Bianca,  has  cost  me  a 
hundred  crowns  since  dinner-time."  "The  more 
fool  you,"  said  Bianca,  "for  laying  on  my  duty." 
"Katharine,"  said  Petrucio,  "I  charge  you  tell 
these  headstrong  women  what  duty  they  owe 
their  lords  and  husbands."  And  to  the  wonder 
of  all  present,  the  reformed  shrewish  lady 
spoke  as  eloquently  in  praise  of  the  wifelike  duty 
of  obedience,  as  she  had  practised  it  implicitly  in 
a  ready  submission  to  Petrucio's  will.  And 
Katharine  once  more  became  famous  in  Padua, 
not  as  heretofore  as  Katharine  the  Shrew, 
but  as  Katharine  the  most  obedient  and  duteous 
wife  in  Padua. 


r 


TWO   CLEVEE   SAILORS. 

[By  Heeaclitus  Grey.] 


They 
burnt. 


N  a  small  old  town  built  on  the  sea- 
shore, there  used  to  live  two  sailors 
named  Jack  and  Joe.  They  were  great 
friends,  and  had  one  boat  between 
them,  and  went  out  fishing  together, 
were  both  strong  and  brave,  and  sun- 
They  both  liked  nmi,  and  both  wore 
loose  trousers.  And  so  they  could  never  make 
out  which  was  the  most  clever. 

"  I  know  the  best  way  to  cook  mackerel  and 
herring,  and  sole,"  said  Jack. 

"  So  do  I.  And  I  know  the  best  way  to  sell 
them,"  said  Joe. 

"  So  do  I,"  answered  Jack.  "  And  I  know  the 
best  way  to  catch  them." 

'■  So  do  I,"  answered  Joe  ;  "  but  what  is  the  use 
of  all  this  when  we  have  not  got  any  ropes  for  our 
nets?" 

"  If  we  had  time,  we  could  make  some,"  said 
Jack. 

"  If  we  had  money,  we  could  buy  some,"  said 
Joe. 


"If  we  knew  where,  we  could  borrow  some," 
said  Jack. 


"  If  we  knew  where,  we  could  steal  some,"  said 
Joe. 

Just  then  the  bells  of  the  church  on  the  hill 
began  tolling  for  evening  prayer. 


ATTACKED    BY   PIRATES. 


65 


"  They  ring  those  bells  with  ropes,"  said  Jack. 

"  And  the  ropes  are  very  good,"  said  Joe. 

Jack  began  to  smile.     Joe  began  to  laugh. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  church,  mate,  to-night  f  asked 
Jack. 

"And  shall  we  stay  there  till  last  V'  asked  Joe. 

Up  the  hill  went  the  two  sailors.  They  stopped 
in  church  till  the  prayers  were  all  over,  and  every- 
body had  gone  home. 

"  Now  is  our  time, '  said  Jack. 

"  It  is  our  turn  now,"  said  .Joe. 

Off  they  went  to  the  tower  where  the  bells  were 
hung.  Here  they  found  two  long,  strong,  thick 
ropes. 

"  One  for  me,"  cried  Jack. 

"  And  one  for  me,"  cried  .Joe. 

Up  the  ropes  clinabed  the  two  clever  sailors, 
like  a  couple  of  monkeys. 

"  I'm  up  at  the  top,"  said  .Jack. 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  Joe. 

Jack  pulled  out  a  knife  from  his  pocket.  So 
did  Joe 


Lick  !  slick !  went  Jack's  knife.  He  cub 
through  the  rope  over  his  head,  and  down  lie 
fell,  and  broke  his  pate  on  the  stones  at  the 
bottom. 

"  Oh,  crikee  ! "  groaned  Jack,  at  the  bottom  ; 
■■'  who  could  have  thought  of  that  1" 

"What  a  stupid-head  you  were,"  cried  Joe  at 
the  top.     "  You  should  have  done  as  I  do." 

With  these  words  he  cut  his  rope  close  under 
his  feet.  Down  it  fell,  and  left  him  hanging  by 
his  two  hands  at  the  top. 

"Oh,  crikee!"  cried  Joe,  at  the  top;  "who 
could  have  thought  of , that  1 ' 

"  What  a  stupid-head  you  were,"  groaned  Jack. 
"  You  will  have  to  hang  there  till  morning." 

And  so  he  did,  and  made  his  arms  so  stiff  that 
he  could  not  move  them  for  a  week. 

It  was  a  sad  night  for  the  two  clever  sailors. 
They  cried,  and  groaned,  and  prayed,  and  said  bad 
words  till  morning. 

Then  Jack  was  taken  off  to  the  hospital,  anl 
Joe  was  taken  ofi'  to  prison. 


ATTACKED     BY    PIEATES. 

[By  Charles  Reaue.     From  "  Hard  Casli,"  published  by  Messrs.  Ward,  Lock,  and  Co.] 


HE  way  the  pirate  dropped  the  mask, 
showed  his  black  teeth,  and  bore  up 
in  chase,  was  terrible  :  so  dilates  and 
bounds  the  sudden  tiger  on  his  unwary 
prey.  There  were  stout  hearts  among  the 
cfficers  of  the  peaceable  Agra ;  but  danger 
in  a  new  form  shakes  the  brave ;  and  this 
was  their  first  pirate  :  their  dismay  broke  out  in 
ejaculations  not  loud  but  deep. 

"Clearing  the  lee  guns,"  said  a  middy,  off  his 
guard. 

Colonel  Kenealy  pricked  up  his  ears,  drew  his 

cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  smelt  powder.     "  What, 

for  action]"  said  he,  briskly.  "Where's  the  enemy]" 

Fullalove  made  him  a  signal,  and  they  went 

below. 


But  now  the  captain  came  bustling  on  deck, 
eyed  the  J  of  tier  sails,  saw  they  were  drawing  well, 
appointed  four  midshipmen  a  staff  to  convey  his 
orders;  gave  Bayliss  charge  of  the  carronadeSj 
Grey  of  the  cutlasses,  and  directed  Mr.  Tickell  to 
break  the  bad  news  gently  to  Mrs.  Beresford,  and 
to  take  her  below  to  the  orlop  deck ;  ordered  the 
purser  to  serve  out  beef,  biscuit,  and  grog  to  all 
hands,  saying,  "Men  can't  work  on  an  empty 
stomach :  and  fighting  is  hard  work ; "  then 
beckoned  the  officers  to  come  round  him.  "  Gen- 
tlemen," said  he,  confidentially,  "in  crowding 
sail  on  this  ship  I  had  no  hope  of  escaping  that 
fellow  on  this  tack,  but  I  was,  and  am,  most 
anxious  to  gain  the  open  sea,  where  I  can  square 
my  yards  and  run  for  it,  if  I  see  a  chance.     At 


fit. 


63 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


present  I  shall  carry  on  till  he  comes  up  within 
range  :  and  then,  to  keep  the  Company's  canvas 
from  being  shot  to  rags,  I  shall  shorten  sail ; 
and  to  save  ship  and  cargo  and  all  our  lives,  I 
shall  fight  while  a  plank  of  her  swims.  Better 
be  killed  in  hot  blood  than  walk  the  plank  in 
cold." 

The  officers  cheered  faintly ;  the  captain's 
dogged  resolution  stirred  up  theirs. 

The  pirate  had  gained  another  quarter  of  a  mile 
and  more.  The  ship's  crew  were  hard  at  their 
beef  and  grog,  and  agreed  among  themselves  it 
was  a  comfortable  ship  ;  they  guessed  what  was 
coming,  and  woe  to  the  ship  in  that  hour  if  the 
captain  had  not  won  their  respect.  Strange  to 
say,  there  were  two  gentlemen  in  the  A(jra  to 
wiiom  the  pirate's  approach  was  not  altogether 
unwelcome.  Colonel  Kenealy  and  Mr.  Fullalove 
were  rival  sportsmen ;  and  rival  theorists.  Kenealy 
stood  out  for  a  smooth  bore,  and  a  four-ounce  ball ; 
Fullalove  for  a  rifle  of  his  own  construction. 
Many  a  doughty  argument  they  had,  and  many  a 
bragging  match  ;  neither  could  convert  the  other. 
At  last  Fullalove  hinted  that  by  going  ashore  at 
the  CApe,  and  getting  each  behind  a  tree  at  one 
hundred  yards,  and  popping  at  one  another,  one  or 
other  would  be  convinced. 

"Well,  but,"  said  Kenealy,  "if  he  is  dead,  he 
will  be  no  wiser ;  besides,  to  a  fellow  like  me,  who 
has  had  the  luxury  of  popping  at  his  enemies, 
poi)ping  at  a  friend  is  poor  insipid  work." 

"Tliat  is  true,"  said  the  other,  regretfully. 
"But  I  reckon  we  shall  never  settle  it  by  argu- 
ment." 

Theorists  are  amazing  creatures  :  and  it  was 
plain,  by  the  alacrity  with  which  these  good 
creatures  loaded  the  rival  instruments,  that  to 
them  the  pirate  came  not  so  much  as  a  pirate  as 
a  solution.  Indeed,  Kenealy,  in  the  act  of  charg- 
ing his  piece,  was  heard  to  mutter,  "  Now,  this  is 
lucky." 

Sail  was  no  sooner  shortened,  and  the  crew 
ranged,  than  the  captain  came  briskly  on  deck, 
saluted,  jiunped  on  a  carronade,  and  stood  erect. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  show  the  crew  his  fore- 
bodings. 

(Pipe.)  "  Silence  fore  and  aft." 

"My  men,  the  schooner  coming  up  on  our 
weather  quarter  is  a  Portuguese  pirate.  His 
character  is  known;  he  scuttles  all  the  ships  he 
boards,  dishonours  the  women,  and  murders  the 
crew.  We  cracked  on  to  get  out  of  the  narrows, 
and  now  we  have  shortened  sail  to  fight  this 
blackguard,  and  teach  him  to  molest  a  British 
ship.  I  promise,  in  the  Company's  name,  twenty 
pounds  prize  money  to  every  man  before  the  mast 
if  we  beat  him  off  or  outmanoeuvre  him  ;  thirty  if 
we  .sink  him  ;  and  forty  if  we  tow  him  astern  into 
a  friendly  port.    Eight  guns  are  clear  below,  three 


on  the  weather  side,  five  on  the  lee ;  for,  if  he- 
knows  his  business,  he  will  come  up  on  the  lee 
quarter ;  if  he  doesn't,  that  is  no  fault  of  yours. 
or  mine.  The  muskets  are  all  loaded,  the  cutlasses 
ground  like  razors " 

"Hurrah!" 

"  We  have  got  women  to  defend " 

"Hurrah!" 

"  A  good  ship  under  our  feet,  the  God  of  justice 
overhead,  British  hearts  in  our  bosoms,  and 
British  colours  flying — run  'em  up  ! — over  our 
heads."  (The  ship's  colours  flew  up  to  the  fore, 
and  the  Union  Jack  to  the  mizen  ]jeak.)  "  Now, 
lads,  I  mean  to  fight  this  ship  while  a  plank  of  her 
(stamping  on  the  deck)  swims  beneath  my  foot, 
and — AVHAT  DO  you  say  1 " 

The  reply  was  a  fierce  "  hurrah  ! "  from  a 
hundred  throats,  so  loud,  so  deep,  so  full  of 
volume,  it  made  the  ship  vibrate,  and  rang  in  the 
creeping-on  pirate's  ears.  Fierce,  but  cunning,  he 
saw  nnschief  in  those  shortened  sails,  and  that 
Union  Jack,  the  terror  of  his  tribe,  rising  to  a 
British  cheer;  he  lowered  his  mainsail,  and 
crawled  up  on  the  weather  quarter.  Arrived 
within  a  cable's  length,  he  double  reefed  his  fore- 
sail to  reduce  his  rate  of  sailing  nearly  to  that  of 
the  ship  ;  and  the  next  moment  a  tongue  of  flame, 
and  then  a  gush  of  smoke,  issued  from  his  lee 
bow,  and  the  ball  flew  screaming  like  a  seagull 
over  the  Agra's  mizen  top.  He  then  put  his 
helm  up,  and  fired  his  other  bow-chaser,  and 
sent  the  shot  hissing  and  skipping  on  the  water 
past  the  ship.  This  prologue  made  the  novices 
wince.  Bayliss  wanted  to  reply  Avith  a  carronade ; 
but  Dodd  forbade  him  sternly,  saying,  "If  we  keep> 
him  aloof  we  are  done  for." 

The  pirate  drew  nearer,  and  fired  both  guns  in 
succession,  hulled  the  Agra  amidships,  and  sent 
an  eighteen  -  pound  ball  through  her  foresail 
Most  of  the  faces  were  pale  on  the  quarter-deck ; 
it  was  very  trying  to  be  shot  at,  and  hit,  and 
make  no  return.  The  next  double  discharge  sent 
one  shot  smash  through  the  stern  cabin  window, 
and  splintered  the  bulwark  with  another,  wound- 
ing a  seaman  slightly. 

'•  Lie  down  forward  ! "  shouted  Dodd,  through 
his  trumpet    "Bayliss,  give  him  a  shot." 

The  carronade  Avas  fired  with  a  tremendous^ 
report,  but  no  visible  effect.  The  pirate  crept 
nearer,  steering  in  and  out  like  a  snake  to  avoid 
the  carronades,  and  firing  those  two  heavy  guns 
alternately  into  the  devoted  ship.  He  hulled  the 
Agra  noAV  nearly  every  shot. 

The  tAvo  available  carronades  replied  noisily,, 
and  jumped,  as  usual ;  they  sent  one  thirty-two 
pound  shot  clean  through  the  schooner's  deck  and 
side  ;  but  that  was  literally  all  they  did  worth 
speaking  of. 

"  Curse  them  ! "  cried  Dodd ;  "  load  them  with 


.•  ^ 


-?*. 


ATTACKED    BY   PIRATES. 


67 


^rape  !  they  are  not  to  be  trusted  with  ball.  And 
all  my  eighteen-pounders  dumb  !  The  coward 
won't  come  alongside  and  give  them  a  chance." 

At  the  next  discharge  the  pirate  chipped  the 
mizen  mast,  and  knocked  a  sailor  into  dead  pieces 
on  the  forecastle.  Dodd  put  his  helm  down  ere 
the  smoke  cleared,  and  got  three  carronades  to 
bear,  heavily  laden  with  grape.  Several  pirates 
fell,  dead  or  wounded,  on  the  crowded  deck,  and 
some  holes  appeared  in  the  foresail ;  this  one  inter- 
change was  quite  in  favour  of  the  ship. 

But  the  lesson  made  the  enemy  more  cautious  ; 
he  crept  nearer,  but  steered  so  adroitly,  now  right 
astern,  now  on  the  quarter,  that  the  ship  could 
seldom  bring  more  than  one  carronade  to  bear, 
while  he  raked  her  fore  and  aft  with  grape  and 
ball. 

In  this  alarming  situation,  Dodd  kept  as  many 
■of  the  men  below  as  possible ;  but,  for  all  he  could 
do,  four  were  killed  and  seven  wounded. 

At  last,  when  the  ship  was  cloved  with  shot, 
and  pejjpered  with  grape,  the  channel  opened  :  in 
five  minutes  more  he  could  put  her  dead  before 
the  wind. 

No.  The  pirate,  on  whose  side  luck  had  been 
from  the  first,  got  half  a  broadside  to  bear  at  long 
musket  shot,  killed  a  midshipman  by  Dodd's  side, 
cut  away  two  of  the  Agra's  mizen  shrouds, 
wounded  the  gaff :  and  cut  the  jib-stay ;  down 
fell  that  powerful  sail  into  the  water,  and  dragged 
across  the  ship's  forefoot,  stopping  her  way  to  the 
open  sea  she  panted  for ;  the  mates  groaned  ;  the 
crew  cheered  stoutly,  as  British  Tars  do  in  any 
.great  disaster ;  the  pirates  yelled  with  ferocious 
triumph. 

But  most  human  events,  even  calamities,  have 
two  sides.  The  Agra  being  brought  almost  to  a 
.standstill,  the  pirate  forged  ahead  against  his  will, 
and  the  combat  took  a  new  and  terrible  form. 
The  elephant  gun  popped,  and  the  rifle  cracked, 
in  the  Agra's  mizen  top,  and  the  man  at  the 
pirate's  helm  jumped  into  the  air  and  fell  dead  : 
both  Theorists  claimed  him.  Then  the  three 
•carronades  peppered  him  hotly  ;  and  he  hurled  an 
iron  shower  back  with  fatal  effect.  Then  at  last 
the  long  18-pounders  on  the  gun-deck  got  a  word 
in.  The  old  Niler  was  not  the  man  to  miss  a 
vessel  alongside  in  a  quiet  sea  ;  he  sent  two  round 
shot  clean  through  him  ;  the  third  splintered  his 
bulwark,  and  swept  across  his  deck. 

"  His  masts  !  fire  at  his  masts  ! "  roared  Dodd 
to  Monk,  through  his  trumpet;  he  then  got  the 
Jib  clear,  and  made  what  sail  he  could  without 
taking  all  the  hands  from  the  guns. 

The  pirate,  bold  as  he  was,  got  sick  of  fair  fight- 
ing first ;  he  hoisted  his  mainsail  and  drew  rapidly 
ahead,  with  a  slight  bearing  to  windward,  and  dis- 
mounted a  carronade  and  stove  in  the  ship's  quarter- 
boat,  by  way  of  a  parting  kick. 


The  men  hurled  a  contemptuous  cheer  after 
him ;  they  thought  they  had  beaten  him  off.  But 
Dodd  knew  better.  He  was  but  retiring  a  little 
way  to  make  a  more  deadly  attack  than  ever  :  he 
would  soon  wear,  and  cross  the  Agra's  defenceless 
bows,  to  rake  her  fore  and  aft  at  pistol-shot  dis- 
tance ;  or  grapple,  and  board  the  enfeebled  ship 
two  hundred  strong. 

Dodd  flew  to  the  helm,  and  with  his  own  hands 
put  it  hard  a  weather,  to  give  the  deck  guns  one 
more  chance,  the  last,  of  sinking  or  disabling  the 
Destroyer.  As  the  ship  obeyed,  and  a  deck  gun 
bellowed  below  him,  he  saw  a  vessel  running  out 
from  Long  Island,  and  coming  swiftly  up  on  his  lee 
quarter. 

It  was  a  schooner.    Was  she  coming  to  his  aid  1 

Horror  !  A  black  flag  floated  from  her  foremast 
head. 

While  Dodd's  eyes  were  staring  almost  out  of 
his  head  at  this  death-blow  to  hope,  Monk  fired 
again  ;  and  just  then  a  pale  face  came  close  to 
Dodd's,  and  a  solemn  voice  whispered  in  his  ear  : 
"  0^l,r  ammunition  is  nearly  done  !  "  It  was  the 
first  mate. 

Dodd  seized  his  hand  convulsively,  and  pointed 
to  the  pirate's  consort  coming  up  to  finish  them  ; 
and  said,  with  the  calm  of  a  brave  man's  despair, 
"  Cutlasses  !  and  die  hard  ! " 

At  that  moment  the  master  gunner  fired  his  last 
gun.  It  sent  a  chain  shot  on  board  the  retiring 
pirate,  took  off  a  Portuguese  head  and  spun  it  clean 
into  the  sea  ever  so  far  to  windward,  and  cut  the 
schooner's  foremast  so  nearly  through  that  it 
trembled  and  nodded,  and  presently  snapped  with 
a  loud  crack,  and  came  down  like  a  broken  tree, 
with  the  yard  and  sail ;  the  latter  overlapping  the 
deck  and  burying  itself,  black  flag  and  all,  in  the 
sea  ;  and  there,  in  one  moment,  lay  the  Destroyer 
buffeting  and  wriggling— like  a  heron  on  the  water 
with  his  long  wing  broken — an  utter  cripple. 

The  victorious  crew  raised  a  stunning  cheer. 

"  Silence ! "  roared  Dodd,  with  his  trumpet. 
"  All  hands  make  sail  ! " 

He  set  his  courses,  bent  a  new  jib,  and  stood 
out  to  windward  close  hauled,  in  hopes  to  make  a 
good  offing,  and  then  put  his  ship  dead  before  the 
wind,  which  was  now  rising  to  a  stiff  breeze.  In 
doing  this  he  crossed  the  crippled  pirate's  stern, 
within  eighty  yards  ;  and  sore  was  the  temptation 
to  rake  him ;  but  his  ammunition  being  short,  and 
his  danger  being  imminent  from  the  other  pirate, 
he  had  the  self-command  to  resist  the  great  tempta- 
tion. The  pirates,  though  in  great  confusion,  and 
expecting  a  broadside,  trained  a  gun  dead  aft. 

Dodd  saw,  and  hailed  the  mizen  top  :  "  Can  you 
two  hinder  them  from  firing  that  gun  '?  " 

"  I  ratther  think  we  can,"  said  FuUalove,  "  eh, 
colonel  %  "  and  tapped  his  long  rifle. 

The  ship's  bows  no  sooner  crossed  the  schooner's 


'IK 


68 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


stern  than  a  Malay  ran  aft  with  a  linstock.  Pop 
went  the  colonel's  ready  carbine,  and  the  Malay 
fell  over  dead,  and  the  linstock  flew  out  of  his 
hand.  A  tall  Portuguese,  with  a  movement  of 
rage,  snatched  it  up,  and  darted  to  the  gun :  the 
Yankee  rifle  cracked,  but  a  moment  too  late. 
Bang  !  went  the  pirate's  gun,  and  crashed  into  the 
Agra's  side,  and  passed  nearly  through  her. 

"  Ye  missed  him  !  Y"e  missed  him  ! "  cried  the 
rival  Theorist,  joyfully.  He  was  mistaken  :  the 
smoke  cleared,  and  there  was  the  pirate  captain 
leaning  wounded  against  the  mainmast  with  a 
Yankee  bullet  in  his  shoulder,  and  his  crew  utter- 
ing yells  of  dismay  and  vengeance.  They  jumped, 
and  raged,  and  brandished  their  knives,  and  made 
horrid  gesticulations  of  revenge ;  and  the  white 
eyeballs  of  the  Malays  and  Papuans  glittered 
liendishly ;  and  the  wounded  captain  raised  his 
sound  arm  and  had  a  signal  hoisted  to  his  consort, 
and  she  bore  up  in  chase,  and  jamming  her  fore 
latine  flat  as  a  board,  lay  far  nearer  the  wind  than 
the  Agra  could,  and  sailed  three  feet  to  her  two 
besides.  On  this  superiority  being  made  clear, 
the  situation  of  the  merchant  vessel,  though  not 
so  utterly  desj^erate  as  before  Monk  tired  his 
lucky  shot,  became  pitiable  enough.  If  she  ran 
before  the  wind,  the  fresh  pirate  would  cut  her 
off":  if  she  lay  to  windward,  she  might  postpone 
the  inevitable  and  fatal  collision  with  a  foe  as 
strong  as  that  she  had  only  escaped  by  a  rare 
piece  of  luck ;  but  this  would  give  the  crippled 
pirate  time  to  refit  and  unite  to  destroy  her. 
Add  to  this  the  failing  ammunition,  and  the 
thinned  crew  ! 

Dodd  cast  his  eyes  all  round  the  horizon  for 
help. 

The  sea  was  blank 

The  bright  sun  was  hidden  now ;  drops  of  rain 
fell,  and  the  wind  was  beginning  to  sing  ;  and  the 
sea  to  rise  a  little, 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  let  us  kneel  down  and 
pray  for  wisdom,  in  this  sore  strait." 

He  and  his  officei-s  kneeled  on  the  quarter- 
deck. When  they  rose,  Dodd  stood  rapt  about 
a  minute ;  his  great  thoughtful  eye  saw  no  more 
the  enemy,  the  sea,  nor  anything  external ;  it 
was  turned  inward-  His  officers  looked  at  him 
in  silence. 

"  Sharpe,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  there  must  be  a  way 
out  of  them,  with  such  a  breeze  as  this  is  now ;  if 
we  could  but  see  it." 

"Ay,  ^/,"  groaned  Sharpe. 

Dodd  mused  again. 

"  About  ship  ! "  said  he,  softly,  like  an  absent 
man. 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  Steer  due  north  ! "  said  he,  still  like  one  whose 
mind  was  elsewhere. 

When  they  were .  distant  about  a  cable's  length. 


the  fresh  pirate,  to  meet  the  ship's  change  of 
tactics,  changed  his  own,  put  his  helm  up  a 
little,  and  gave  the  ship  a  broadside,  well  aimed 
but  not  destructive,  the  guns  being  loaded  with 
ball. 

Dodd,  instead  of  replying,  as  was  expected,  took 
advantage  of  the  smoke  and  put  his  ship  before 
the  wind.  By  this  unexpected  stroke  the  vessels 
engaged  ran  swiftly  at  right  angles  towards  one 
point,  and  the  pirate  saw  himself  menaced  with 
two  serious  perils ;  a  collision  which  might  send 
him  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  in  a  minute,  or  a 
broadside  delivered  at  pistol-shot  distance,  and 
with  no  possibility  of  his  making  a  return.  He 
must  eithei  put  his  helm  up  or  down.  He  chose 
the  bolder  course,  put  his  helm  hard  a  lee,  and 
stood  ready  to  give  broadside  for  broadside.  But 
ere  he  could  bring  his  lee  guns  to  bear,  he  must 
offer  his  bow  for  one  moment  to  the  ship's  broad- 
side ;  and  in  that  moment,  which  Dodd  had  pro- 
vided for,  Monk  and  his  mates  raked  him  fore 
and  aft  at  short  distance  with  all  the  five  guns 
that  were  clear  on  that  side ;  the  carronades  fol- 
lowed and  mowed  him  slantwise  with  grape  and 
canister;  the  almost  simultaneous  discharge  of 
eight  guns  made  the  ship  tremble,  and  enveloped 
her  in  thick  smoke  ;  loud  shrieks  and  groans  were 
heard  from  the  schooner  :  the  smoke  cleared  ;  the 
pirate's  mainsail  hung  on  deck,  his  jib-boom  was 
cut  off  like  a  carrot  and  the  sail  struggling ;  his 
foresail  looked  lace,  lanes  of  dead  and  wounded 
lay  still  or  writhing  on  his  deck,  and  his  lee  scuppers 
ran  blood  into  the  sea. 

The  ship  rushed  down  the  wind,  leaving  the 
schooner  staggered  and  all  abroad.  But  not  for 
long;  the  pirate  fired  his  broadside  after  all,  at  the 
now  ^ying  Agra,  split  one  of  the  carronades  in  two, 
and  killed  a  Lascar,  and  made  a  hole  in  the  fore- 
sail ;  this  done,  he  hoisted  his  mainsail  again  in  a 
trice,  sent  his  wounded  below,  flung  his  dead  over- 
board, to  the  horror  of  their  foes,  and  came  after 
the  flying  ship,  yawing  and  firing  his  bow  chasers. 
The  ship  was  silent.  She  had  no  shot  to  throw 
away.  Not  only  did  she  take  these  blows  like  a 
coward,  but  all  signs  of  life  disappeared  on  her, 
except  two  men  at  the  wheel,  and  the  captain  on. 
the  main  gangway. 

****** 

Suddenly  the  yells  of  the  pirates  on  both  sides 
ceased,  and  there  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence  on 
the  sea. 

Yet  nothing  fresh  had  happened. 

Yes,  this  had  happened  ;  the  pirates  to  wind- 
ward, and  the  pirates  to  leeward,  of  the  Agra,  had 
found  out,  at  one  and  the  ,same  moment,  that  the 
merchant  captain  they  had  lashed,  and  bullied,  and 
tortured,  was  a  patient  but  tremendous  man.  It  was 
not  only  to  rake  the  fresh  schooner  he  had  put  his 
ship  before  the  wind,  but  also  by  a  double,  daring. 


ATTACKED    BY    PIRATES. 


^t» 


69 


masterstroke  to  hurl  his  monster  ship  bodily  on  the 
ether.  Without  a  foresail  she  could  never  get  out 
of  his  way. 

After  that  solemn  silence  came  a  storm  of  cries 
and  curses,  as  their  seamen  went  to  work  to  fit  the 
yard  and  raise  the  sail ;  while  their  fighting  men 
seized  their  matchlocks  and  trained  the  guns. 
They  were  well  commanded  by  an  heroic  able 
villain.  Astern  the  consort  thundered  ;  but  the 
A'/ra's  response  was  a  dead  silence  more  awful 
than  broadsides. 


sent  a  mischievous  shot,  and  knocked  one  of  the 
men  to  atoms  at  the  helm. 

Dodd  waved  his  hand  without  a  word,  and 
another  man  rose  from  the  deck,  and  took  his  place 
in  silence,  and  laid  his  unshaking  hand  on  the 
wheel  stained  with  that  man's  warm  blood  whose 
place  he  took. 

The  high  ship  was  now  scarce  sixty  yards 
distant ;  she  seemed  to  know :  she  reared  her 
lofty  figure-head  with  great  awful  shoots  into 
the  air. 


For  then  was  seen  with  what  majesty  the  en- 
during Anglo-Saxon  fights. 

One  of  that  indomitable  race  on  the  gangway, 
one  at  the  foremast,  two  at  the  wheel,  conned  and 
steered  the  great  ship  down  on  a  hundred  match- 
locks and  a  grinning  broadside,  just  as  they  would 
have  conned  and  steered  her  into  a  British  har- 
bour. 

"  Starboard  ! "  said  Dodd,  in  a  deep  calm  voice, 
with  a  motion  of  his  hand. 

"  Starboard  it  is." 

The  pirate  wriggled  ahead  a  little.  The  man 
f')rward  made  a  silent  signal  to  Dodd. 

'■  Port !"  said  Dodd,  quietly. 

'•'  Port  it  is." 

But  at  this  critical  moment  the  pirate  astern 


The  "Agra"  running  i  own  the  Pirate, 
(Drawn  hy  W.  H.  Overend. 


But  now  the  panting  pirates  got  their  new 
foiesail  hoisted  with  a  joyful  shout;  it  drew,  the 
schooner  gathered  way,  and  their  furious  consort 
close  on  the  Agra's  heels  just  then  scourged  her 
deck  with  grape. 

"  Port ! "  said  Dodd,  calmly. 

"  Port  it  is." 

The  giant  prow  darted  at  the  escaping  pirate. 
That  acre  of  coming  canvas  took  the  wind  out  of 
the  swift  schooner's  foresail ;  it  flapped  :  oh,  then 
she  was  doomed  !  That  awful  moment  parted  the 
races  on  board  her ;  the  Papuans  and  Sooloos,  their 
black  faces  livid  and  blue  with  horror,  leaped 
yelling  into  the  sea,  or  crouched  and  whimpered  ; 
the  yellow  Malays  and  brown  Portuguese,  though 
blanched  to  one  colour  now,  turned  on  death  like 
dying  panthers,  fired  two  cannon  slap  into  the 
shi])'s  bows,  and  snapped  their  muskets  and  match- 
locks at  their  solitary  executioner  on  the  ship's. 


70 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


gangway,  and  out  flew  their  knives  like  crushed 
wasp  stings.  Crash  !  the  Indiaman's  cut-water 
in  thick  smoke  beat  in  the  schooner's  broadside  : 
•down  went  her  masts  to  leeward,  like  fishing-rods 
whipping  the  water  ;  there  was  a  horrible  shrieking 
yell ;  wild  forms  leaped  off  on  the  Agra,  and  were 
hacked  to  pieces  almost  ere  they  reached  the  deck 


— a  surge,  a  chasm  in  the  sea,  filled  with  an  instant 
rush  of  engulphing  waves,  a  long,  awful,  grating, 
grinding  noise,  never  to  be  forgotten  in  this  world, 
all  along  under  the  ship's  keel — and  the  fearful 
majestic  monster  passed  on  over  the  blank  she  had 
made,  with  a  pale  crew  standing  silent  and  awe- 
struck on  her  deck. 


THE     PEISONER     OF 

[By  LOED  Btbon.] 


CHILLON. 


'Y  hair  is  grey,  but  not  with  years, 
Nor  grew  it  white 
In  a  single  night, 
As  men's  have  grown  from  sudden 
fears  : 
limbs  are  bow'd,  tliough  not  with  toil. 
But  rusted  with  a  vile  repose, 
For  they  have  been  a  dungeon's  spoil, 
And  mine  has  been  the  fate  of  those 
To  whom  the  goodly  earth  and  air 
Are  bann'd,  and  barr'd — forbidden  fare  ; 
But  this  was  for  my  father's  faith 
I  siifter'd  chains  and  courted  death  ; 
That  father  perish'd  at  the  stake 
For  tenets  he  would  not  forsake ; 
And  for  the  same  his  lineal  race 
In  darkness  found  a  dwelling-place  ; 
We  were  seven — who  now  are  one. 

Six  in  youth,  and  one  in  age, 
Finish'd  as  they  had  begun, 

Proud  of  persecution's  rage  ; 
One  in  fire,  and  two  in  field. 
Their  belief  with  blood  have  seal'd  ; 
Dying  as  their  father  died. 
For  the  God  their  foes  denied  ; 
Three  were  in  a  dungeon  cast. 
Of  whom  this  wreck  is  left  the  last. 

"There  are  seven  pillars  of  Gothic  mould, 
In  Chillon's  dungeons  deep  and  old  ; 
There  are  seven  columns,  massy  and  grey, 
Dim  with  a  dull  imprison'd  ray, 
A  sunbeam-  which  hath  lost  its  way. 
And  through  the  crevice  and  the  cleft 
Of  the  thick  wall  is  fallen  and  left ; 
Oreeping  o'er  the  floor  so  damp. 
Like  a  marsh's  meteor  lamp  : 
And  in  each  pillar  there  is  a  ring. 

And  in  each  ring  there  is  a  chain ; 
That  iron  is  a  cankering  thing. 

For  in  these  limbs  its  teeth  remain. 
With  marks  that  will  not  wear  away. 
Till  I  have  done  with  this  new  day. 
Which  now  is  painful  to  these  eyes. 
Which  have  not  seen  the  sun  so  rise 


For  years — I  cannot  count  them  o'er, 
I  lost  their  long  and  heavy  score 
When  my  last  brother  droop'd  and  died, 
And  I  lay  living  by  his  side. 

They  chain'd  us  each  to  a  column  stone. 
And  we  were  three — yet,  each  alone  : 
We  could  not  move  a  single  pace, 
We  could  not  see  each  other's  face, 
But  with  that  pale  and  livid  light 
That  made  us  strangers  in  our  sight  : 
And  thus  together — yet  apart, 
Fetter'd  in  hand,  but  joined  in  heart, 
'Twas  still  some  solace,  in  the  dearth 
Of  tlie  pure  elements  of  earth, 
To  hearken  to  each  other's  speech, 
And  each  turn  comforter  to  each 
With  some  new  hope,  or  legend  old, 
Or  song  heroically  bold  ; 
But  even  these  at  length  grew  cold. 
Our  voices  took  a  dreary  tone, 
An  echo  of  the  dungeon-stone, 

A  grating  sound — not  full  and  free 
As  they  of  yore  were  wont  to  be  ; 
It  might  be  fancy — but  to  me 
They  never  sounded  like  our  own. 

I  was  the  eldest  of  the  three. 
And  to  uphold  and  cheer  the  rest 
I  ought  to  do— and  did  my  best — 

And  each  did  well  in  his  degree. 

The  youngest,  whom  my  father  loved. 

Because  our  mother's  brow  was  given 

To  him — with  eyes  as  blue  as  heaven. 
For  him  my  soul  was  sorely  moved  : 

And  truly  might  it  be  distress'd 

To  see  such  bird  in  such  a  nest ; 

For  he  was  beautiful  as  day— 
(When  day  was  beautiful  to  me 
As  to  young  eagles,  being  free) — 
A  polar  day,  which  will  not  see 

A  sunset  till  its  summer's  gone. 
Its  sleepless  summer  of  long  light. 

The  snow-clad  offspring  of  the  sun  ! 
And  thus  he  was  as  pure  and  bright. 


THE   PRISONER  OF   CHILLON. 


71 


And  in  his  natural  spirit  gay, 
With  tears  for  nought  but  others'  ills, 
And  then  they  flow'd  like  mountain  rills, 
Unless  he  could  assuage  the  woe 
Which  he  abhorr'd  to  view  below. 

The  other  was  as  pure  of  mind. 
But  form'd  to  combat  with  his  kind  ; 
Strong  in  his  frame,  and  of  a  mood 
Which  'gainst  the  world  in  war  had  stood, 
And  lierish'd  in  the  foremost  rank 

With  joy  : — but  not  in  chains  to  pine  : 
His  spirit  wither'd  with  their  clank, 

I  saw  it  silently  decline — 

And  so  perchance  in  sooth  did  mine  : 
But  yet  I  forced  it  on  to  cheer 
Those  relics  of  a  home  so  dear. 
He  was  a  hunter  of  the  hills. 

Had  f  ollow'd  there  the  deer  and  wolf ; 

To  him  this  dungeon  was  a  gulf, 
And  fetter'd  feet  the  worst  of  ills. 

Lake  Leman  lies  by  Chillon's  walls  : 
A  thousand  feet  in  depth  below 
Its  massy  waters  meet  and  flow  ; 
Thus  much  the  fathom-line  was  sent 
From  Chillon's  snow-white  battlement, 

Which  round  about  the  wave  enthralls  : 
A  double  dungeon  wall  and  wave 
Have  made — and  like  a  living  grave 
Below  the  surface  of  the  lake 
The  dark  vault  lies  wherein  we  lay. 
We  heard  it  ripple  night  and  day  ; 

Sounding  o'er  our  heads  it  knock'd  ; 
And  I  have  felt  the  winter's  sjiray 
Wash  through  the  bars  when  winds  were  high 
And  wanton  iu  the  happy  sky  ; 

And  then  the  very  rock  hath  rock'd, 

And  I  have  felt  it  shake,  unshock'd, 
Because  I  could  have  smil'd  to  see 
The  death  that  would  have  set  me  free. 

I  said  my  nearer  brother  pined, 
I  said  his  mighty  heart  declined. 
He  loathed  and  put  away  his  food  ; 
It  was  not  that  'twas  coarse  and  rude. 
For  we  were  used  to  hunter's  fare, 
And  for  the  like  had  little  care  : 
The  milk  drawn  from  the  mountain  goat 
Was  changed  for  water  from  the  moat. 
Our  bread  was  such  as  captives'  tears 
Have  moisten'd  many  a  thousand  years, 
Since  man  first  pent  his  fellow-men 
Like  brutes  within  an  iron  den  : 
But  w^hat  were  these  to  us  or  him  1 
These  wasted  not  his  heart  or  limb  ; 
My  brother's  soul  was  of  that  mould 
Which  in  a  palace  had  grown  cold, 


Had  his  free  breathing  been  denied 
The  range  of  the  steep  mountain's  side  ; 
But  why  delay  the  truth  1 — he  died. 
I  saw,  and  could  not  hold  his  head, 
Nor  reach  his  dying  hand — nor  dead — 
Though  hard  I  strove,  but  strove  in  vain. 
To  rend  and  gnash  my  bonds  in  twain. 
He  died — and  they  unlock'd  his  chain, 
And  scoop'd  for  him  a  shallow  grave 
Even  from  the  cold  earth  of  our  cave, 
I  begg'd  them,  as  a  boon,  to  lay 
His  corse  in  dust  whereon  the  day 
Might  shine — it  was  a  foolish  thought, 
But  then  within  my  brain  it  wrought, 
That  even  in  death  his  freeborn  breast 
In  such  a  dungeon  could  not  rest. 
I  might  have  spared  my  idle  prayer — 
They  coldly  laugh'd — and  laid  him  there  i 
The  flat  and  turfless  earth  above 
The  being  we  so  much  did  love  ; 
His  empty  chain  above  it  leant. 
Such  murder's  fitting  monument  ! 

But  he,  the  favourite  and  the  flower. 

Most  cherish'd  since  his  natal  hour, 

His  mother's  image  in  fair  face. 

The  infant  love  of  all  his  race, 

His  martyr'd  father's  dearest  thought. 

My  latest  care,  for  whom  I  sought 

To  hoard  my  life,  that  his  might  be 

Less  wretched  now,  and  one  day  free  ;. 

He,  too,  who  yet  had  held  untired 

A  spirit  natural  or  inspired — 

He,  too,  was  struck,  and  day  by  day 

Was  wither'd  on  the  stalk  away. 

Oh  God  !  it  is  a  fearful  thing 

To  see  the  human  soul  take  wing 

In  any  shape,  in  any  mood  : 

I've  seen  it  rushing  forth  in  blood, 

I've  seen  it  on  the  breaking  ocean 

Strive  with  a  swoln  convulsive  motion,. 

I've  seen  the  sick  and  ghastly  bed 

Of  sin  delirious  Avitli  its  dread  : 

But  these  Avere  horrors — this  was  woe 

Unmix'd  with  such — but  sure  and  slow  t 

He  faded,  and  so  calm  and  meek, 

So  softly  worn,  so  sweetly  weak, 

So  tearless,  yet  so  tender — kind. 

And  grieved  for  those  he  left  behind  ; 

With  all  the  while  a  cheek  whose  bloom 

Was  as  a  mockery  of  the  tomb, 

Whose  tints  as  gently  sunk  away 

As  a  departing  rainbow's  ray — 

An  eye  of  most  transparent  light, 

That  almost  made  the  dungeon  bright. 

And  not  a  word  of  murmur — not 

A  groan  o'er  his  untimely  lot, — 

A  little  talk  of  better  days, 

A  little  hope  my  own  to  raise, 


72 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


For  I  was  sunk  in  silence— lost 

In  this  last  loss,  of  all  the  most ; 

And  then  the  sighs  he  would  suppress 

Of  fainting  nature's  feebleness, 

More  slowly  drawn,  grew  less  and  less  : 

I  listen'd,  but  I  could  not  hear— 

I  caird,  for  I  was  wild  with  fear  ; 

I  knew  'twas  hopeless,  but  my  dread 

Would  not  be  thus  admonished  ; 

I  call'd,  and  thought  I  heard  a  sound  — 

I  burst  my  chain  with  one  strong  bound, 

And  rush'd  to  him  : — I  found  him  not, 

/  only  stirr'd  in  this  black  spot, 

/  only  lived—  /  only  drew 

The  accursed  breath  of  dungeon-dew ; 

The  last — the  sole — the  dearest  link 


I  had  no  thouglit,  no  feeling — none— 
Among  the  stones  I  stood  a  stone. 
And  was,  scarce  conscious  what  I  wist, 
As  shrubless  crags  within  the  mist ; 
For  all  was  blank,  and  bleak,  and  grey  ; 
It  was  not  night — it  was  not  day  ; 
It  was  not  even  the  .dungeon-light, 
So  hateful  to  my  heavy  sight, 
But  vacancy  absorbing  space, 
And  fixedness — without  a  place  : 
There  were  no  stars — no  earth— no  time — 
No  check — no  change — no  good — no  crime- 
But  silence,  and  a  stirless  breath 
Which  neither  was  of  life  nor  death  ; 
A  sea  of  stagnant  idleness. 
Blind,  boundless,  mute,  and  motionless  ! 


The  IxTEKioii  or  the  Dtnoeon  at  Chillon. 


J  >etween  me  and  the  eternal  brink, 
Which  bound  me  to  my  failing  race, 
Was  broken  in  this  fatal  place. 
One  on  the  earth,  and  one  beneath- 
My  brothers — both  had  ceased  to  breathe 
I  took  that  hand  which  lay  so  still, 
Alas  !  my  own  was  full  as  chill ; 
I  had  not  strength  to  stir,  or  strive, 
But  felt  that  I  was  still  alive — 
A  frantic  feeling,  when  we  know 
That  what  we  love  shall  ne'er  be  so. 

I  know  not  why 

I  could  not  die, 
I  had  no  earthly  hope  but  faith. 
And  that  forbade  a  selfish  death. 

What  next  befell  me  then  and  there 
I  know  not  well — I  never  knew— 

First  came  the  loss  of  light,  and  air. 
And  then  of  darkness  too  : 


A  light  broke  in  upon  my  brain, — 

It  was  the  carol  of  a  bird  ; 
It  ceased,  and  then  it  came  again, 

The  sweetest  song  ear  ever  heard. 
And  mine  was  thankful  till  my  eyes 
Ran  over  with  the  glad  surprise. 
And  they  that  mouieiit  could  not  see 
I  was  the  mate  of  misery  ; 
But  then  by  dull  degrees  came  back 
My  senses  to  their  wonted  track  ; 
I  saw  the  dungeon  walls  and  fioor 
Close  slowly  round  me  as  before, 
I  saw  the  glimmer  of  the  sun 
Creeping  as  it  before  had  done. 
But  through  the  crevice  where  it  came 
That  bird  was  perch'd,  as  fond  and  tame, 

And  tamer  than  upon  the  tree  ; 
A  lovely  bird,  with  azure  wings, 
And  song  that  said  a  thousand  things, 

And  seem'd  to  say  them  all  for  me  ! 


I  HAD   NOT  STRENGTH  TO   STIE  OK  STRIVE  " 


•THE  rnisoNKR  of  cniLiox'  {p.  n). 


THE   PRISONER   OF   CHILLON. 


73 


I  never  saAv  its  like  before, 

I  ne'er  shall  see  its  likeness  more  : 

It  seem'd  like  me  to  want  a  mate, 

But  was  not  half  so  desolate, 

And  it  was  come  to  love  me  when 

None  lived  to  love  me  so  again. 

And  cheering  from  my  dungeon's  brink, 

Had  brought  me  back  to  feel  and  think. 

I  know  not  if  it  late  were  free, 

Or  broke  its  cage  to  perch  on  mine. 
But  knowing  well  captivity, 

Sweet  bird  !  I  could  not  wish  for  thine  ! 
Or  if  it  were,  in  winged  guise, 
A  visitant  from  Paradise  ; 
Por — Heaven  forgive  that  thought  !  the  while 
Wliich  made  me  both  to  weep  and  smile  ; 


Along  my  cell  from  side  to  side, 
And  up  and  down,  and  then  athwart. 
And  tread  it  over  every  part ; 
And  round  the  pillars  one  by  one, 
Returning  where  my  walk  begun, 
Avoiding  only,  as  I  trod, 
My  brothers'  graves  without  a  sod  ; 
For  if  I  thought  with  heedless  tread 
My  step  profaned  their  lowly  bed, 
My  breath  came  gaspingly  and  thick. 
And  my  crush'd  heart  fell  blind  and  sicL 

I  made  a  footing  in  the  wall, 
It  was  not  therefrom  to  escape, 

For  I  had  buried  one  and  all 
Who  loved  me  in  a  human  shape  ; 


View  of  Chillok. 


I  sometimes  deem'd  that  it  might  be 
My  brother's  soul  come  down  to  me  ; 
But  then  at  last  away  it  flew. 
And  then  'twas  mortal  well  I  knew, 
For  he  would  never  thus  have  flown, 
And  left  me  twice  so  doubly  lone, — 
Lone — as  the  corse  within  its  shroud, 
Lone — as  a  solitary  cloud, 

A  single  cloud  on  a  sunny  day, 
While  all  the  rest  of  heaven  is  clear, 
A  frown  upon  the  atmosphere, 
That  hath  no  business  to  appear 

Wlien  skies  are  blue,  and  earth  is  gay. 

A  kind  of  change  came  in  my  fate, 
My  keepers  grew  compassionate  ; 
I  know  not  what  had  made  them  so, 
They  were  inured  to  sights  of  woe. 
But  so  it  was  : — my  broken  chain 
With  links  unfasten'd  did  remain, 
And  it  was  liberty  to  stride 


And  the  whole  earth  would  henceforth  be 

A  wider  prison  unto  me  : 

No  child — no  sire — no  kin  had  I, 

No  partner  in  my  misery  ; 

I  thought  of  this,  and  I  was  glad, 

For  thought  of  them  had  made  me  mad  ; 

But  I  was  curious  to  ascend 

To  my  barr'd  Avindows,  and  to  bend 

Once  more,  upon  the  mountains  high, 

The  quiet  of  a  loving  eye. 

I  saw  them— and  they  were  the  same. 

They  were  not  changed  like  me  in  frame  ; 

I  saw  their  thousand  years  of  snow 

On  high — their  wide  long  lake  below 

And  the  blue  Rhone  in  fullest  flow  ; 

I  heard  the  torrents  leap  and  gush 

O'er  channell'd  rock  and  broken  bush  ; 

I  saw  the  white-wall'd  distant  town, 

And  whiter  sails  go  skimming  down  : 

And  then  there  was  a  little  isle, 

Which  in  my  very  face  did  smile, 


74 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


The  only  one  in  view  ; 
A  small  green  isle,  it  seem'd  no  more, 
Scarce  broader  than  my  dungeon  floor, 
But  in  it  there  were  three  tall  trees, 
And  o'er  it  blew  the  mountain  breeze. 
And  by  it  there  were  waters  flowing. 
And  on  it  there  were  young  flowers  growing. 

Of  gentle  breath  and  hue. 
The  fish  swam  by  the  castle  wall. 
And  they  seem'd  joyous  each  and  all ; 
The  eagle  rode  the  rising  blast, 
Methought  he  never  flew  so  fast 
As  then  to  me  he  seem'd  to  fly. 
And  then  new  tears  came  in  my  eye, 
And  I  felt  troubled — and  would  fain 
I  had  not  left  my  recent  chain  ; 
And  when  I  did  descend  again. 
The  darkness  of  my  dim  abode 
Fell  on  me  as  a  heavy  load  ; 
It  was  as  is  a  new -dug  grave, 
Closing  o'er  one  we  sought  to  save, — 
And  yet  my  glance,  too  much  oppress'd, 
Had  almost  need  of  such  a  rest. 

It  might  be  months,  or  yeai^s,  or  days, 
I  kept  no  count— I  took  no  note, 


I  had  no  hope  my  eyes  to  raise. 

And  clear  them  of  their  dreary  mote  ; 
At  last  men  came  to  set  me  free, 

I    ask'd    not    why,    and    reck'd    not 
where,  • 
It  was  at  length  the  same  to  me, 
Fetter'd  or  fetterless  to  be, 
I  learn'd  to  love  despair. 
And  thus  when  they  appear'd  at  last. 
And  all  my  bonds  aside  were  cast, 
These  heavy  walls  to  me  had  grown 
A  hermitage — and  all  my  own  ! 
And  half  I  felt  as  they  were  come 
To  tear  me  from  a  second  home  : 
With  spiders  I  had  friendship  made. 
And  watch'd  them  in  their  sullen  trade. 
Had  seen  the  mice  by  moonlight  play, 
And  why  should  I  feel  less  than  they  ? 
We  were  all  inmates  of  one  place. 
And  I,  the  monarch  of  each  race. 
Had  power  to  kill — yet,  strange  to  tell  I 
In  quiet  we  had  learn'd  to  dwell — 
My  very  chains  and  I  grew  friends. 
So  much  a  long  communion  tends 
To  make  us  what  we  are  : — even  I 
Regain'd  my  freedom  with  a  sigh. 


CHECK     TO     A     BUEGLAR. 


[By  Geobge  Makyille  Fenn.] 

B{N^D  they  took  away  all  the  plate  at. the 
Ijf'   Smithers',  dear." 

"  Only  electro,  my  dear,"  I  said. 
"  But  it  is  so  dreadful,  love.     Only  think 
if  they  were  to  come  here  next." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure,"  I  said.    "  They  might 
steal  the  baby." 

"  How  can  you  be  so  cruel  1 " 
"  I  wonder  how  much  a  baby  is  worth  to  people 
of  that  class." 

"  I  declare,  Fred,  if  you  keep  on  talking  such 
stuff,  I  won't  stop  in  the  studio." 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  do  with  them  1" 
"No.    WithAvhat]" 
"Stolen  babies." 

"  No.  Of  coui-se  not !  How  can  you  talk  such 
nonsense  ! " 

"  Let  them  out  for  hire  :  a  woman  has  a  couple 
in  arms,  two  more  a  size  or  so  larger  cling  to 
her  skirts,  and  two  more  support  her  beloved 
husband,  who  scrapes  a  psalm  tune  on  an  old 
fiddle." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  make  me  cry,  Fred  1 " 
"  My  dear,  tears  improve  you ;    but    all  the 
same,  you  are  already  so  near  perfection  that  I 
do    not  wish  to   see  you    improved.      Still,    if 


baby  were  stolen,  what  quiet  nights  we  should 
have." 

Silence  in  the  studio  for  a  while,  broken  only 
by  the  click,  click  of  a  busy  needle,  and  the 
creaking  of  my  easel  as  I  shift  its  position.  Then 
my  wdfey  goes  on — 

"  I  think,  dear,  we  really  ought  to  move." 

"Why,  my  dear]" 

"  Why  ?  Because  it's  dreadful  to  live  in  a  place 
with  such  horrible  robberies  always  going  on." 

"And  leave  King  Henry's  Road?  Why,  what 
place  could  be  a  better  one  for  wives  1 " 

"I  see  it's  of  no  use  to  talk  to  you,  to-day, 
Fred,"  says  little  wifey ;  "  you  have  one  of  your 
teasing  fits  on,  so  I  may  as  well  hold  my  tongue." 

"No,  my  dear,  pray  proceed— 'tis  like  the  silver 
murmur  of  the  brook  upon  mine  ear,  and  sweetens 
the  task. I  have  in  hand." 

"  Stuff ! " 

That  is  little  wifey's  exclamation,  in  a  very 
snatchy,  pettish  tone ;  but  she  likes  it  all  the  same, 
and  every  now  and  then  the  little  head  will  turn  in 
my  direction.  At  the  end  of  a  minute  the  burglars 
break  in  once  more,  and  she  continues — 

"There  have  been  no  less  than  ten  robberies 
since  Christmas,  Fred." 


CHECK   TO   A    BURGLAR. 


75 


"  Indeed,  my  dear  !  Then  I  shall  start  a  Bur- 
glary Insurance  Company.     Why  not  1 " 

"  Did  you  hear  how  they  cleared  out  the 
Lemaines — those  French  people  1 " 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  did  not." 

"Oh,  but  it  was  dreadful  !  They  took  every- 
thing— even  to  the  table  linen." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  if  they  come  here — bless  'em — 
what  will  they  get  1  Nothing  worth  having  ;  for 
our  poverty  is  a  sweet  blessing  in  disguise,  which 
frees  us  from  the  sad  anxieties  of  those  who  suffer 
from  a  plethora  of  plate,  a  weight  of  watches,  or  a 
generosity  of  gems.  We  have  our  tables  and  our 
chairs — I  my  paints  and  brushes,  you  your  needle- 
work and— and,  well,  your  good  looks,  which  Time 
alone  can  steal.  The  only  mutual  property,  it 
seems  to  me,  that  we  could  lose  by  the  burglarious 
burgling  of  burglars  is  the  baby,  and  him  you 
houKKopathically  preserve." 

I  did  chat  the  matter  over  sagely  enough  while 
Ave  had  our  walk,  and  the  little  wife  agreed  that 
it  would  not  be  wise  to  run  away  from  a  danger 
that  might  never  come — in  fact,  we  might  be 
running  into  its  very  teeth.  But,  all  the  same, 
it  was  a  terrible  niiisance,  this  constant  recurrence 
■of  petty  robberies— keeping,  as  it  did,  the  hearts 
-of  all  the  hens  and  chickens  of  the  neighbourhood 
in  a  constant  state  of  flutter  lest  the  next  visit  of 
the  fox  should  be  to  their  particular  roost.  I,  for 
■one,  had  spoken  to  the  inspector  of  police  after  the 
upset  at  our  friends',  the  Wilkins's,  and  he  had 
very  sensibly  remarked  that  they  (the  police) 
■could  not  be  everywhere  at  once. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  he  said,  "  it's  just  this.  They 
plant  a  robbery,  and  work  according.  By  a  little 
watching  they  get  to  know  our  times  for  being  in 
every  street — for  we  can't  work  at  random,  we  must 
have  our  regular  beats,  so  as  to  check  the  men. 
Well,  sir,  they  see  a  man  out  of  such  and  such  a 
street,  and  they  know  how  long  it  will  be  before 
he  comes  back,  and  go  to  work  in  the  meantime." 

A  fortnight  slipped  by,  during  which  I  worked 
hard  at  the  "Blue  Belles" — and  the  burglars 
rested,  for  we  heard  no  more  of  their  depredations  ; 
when  one  day  our  studio  was  entered  by  a  brigand 
— a  swarthy-looking,  black-bearded  fellow,  in 
olive  velvet,  very  much  worn,  and  a  soft  sombrero. 
He  looked  a  regidar  burglar  of  the  order  of  the 
]ong  knife  ;  but  it  was  only  Tom  Norris,  who  had 
•come  straight  to  us  from  Spain,  after  a  six  months' 
stay.  And  a  treat  it  was,  I  can  tell  you,  to  look 
through  his  portfolio  of  sketches  a  la  Phillip- 
such  dark-eyed  girls,  such  muleteers,  such  naked 
•children  tumbling  about  amongst  melons  and 
grapes.  Then  there  were  fat  friars  and  lean  nuns ; 
Moorish  gateways,  and  bits  of  sun-scorched  rock  ; 
and  we  were  just  in  the  midst  of  our  ecstasies  over 
a  Spanish  inn  amongst  the  mountains,  when  a 
thought  struck  me,  and  I  said — 


"  I  say,  Tom,  where  are  you  going  to  sleep  ? " 

"  Oh,  somewhere  in  Charlotte  Street,"  he  said. 
"  I  haven't  thought  about  it  yet." 

Milly  and  I  exchanged  glances. 

"  Ours  is  only  a  little  iron  bedstead,  Tom,  and 
a  scrap  of  carpet  on  the  floor ;  but — " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  exclaimed,  "  a  clean 
railway  rug  and  a  floor  where  you  can  say  that 
insects  of  a  virulent  disposition  do  not  hold 
carnival  would  be  a  place  where  I  should  sleep  in 
bliss." 

So  it  was  settled  that  Tom  should  stay. 

As  the  soft  spring  evening  closed  in,  we  had  a 
grand  debauch.  Milly  brought  out  the  great 
glass  jug,  into  which  was  emptied  a  shilling  bottle 
of  claret,  and  a  bottle  of  soda  water ;  while  after 
throwing  up  the  great,  heavy  plate-glass  sash  of 
the  studio  window,  we  sat  and  smoked  the 
Spanish  cigarettes,  of  which  Tom  had  brought  a 
store. 

There  was  so  much  picture  lore  to  canvass,  that 
it  was  twelve  o'clock  before  we  were  all  snug  in 
our  rooms.  Then  I  said  my  catechism,  and  we 
went  to  bed. 

By  the  way,  I  may  as  well  explain  that  my 
catechism  is  repeated  to  Milly  every  night ;  and 
the  questions  are  somewhat  of  this  kind  :— 

"  Are  you  sure  the  kitchen  fire  is  quite  out  1 

"  Did  you  turn  off  the  gas  ] 

"  Was  the  studio  window  secured  1 

"  Has  Mary  put  out  her  light  1  " 

Et  cetera,  et  cetera.  Then  I  put  out  our  own, 
and  sleep  fell  upon  our  humble  roof. 

I  was  just  busy  paying  the  Spanish  woman  for 
the  great,  luscious  water-melon  she  had  sold  me 
under  the  walls  of  the  old  palace,  when  a  fierce 
brigand  fellow  presented  a  formidable,  bell- 
mouthed  trabuco  at  my  head,  and  bade  me  give 
up  my  cash.  I  closed  with  him  in  a  fierce  struggle, 
but  it  was  all  in  vain ;  he  shook  me  and  tossed  me 
as  he  liked,  and  all  the  while  he  kept  on  saying— 

"  Fred  !— Fred  !     Oh,  pray  do  wake  up." 

"  Eh  ?    W^hat's  the  matter  ? " 

"  I'm  sure  there's  somebody  breaking  in  !  " 

"  Bother !  " 

I  was  drawing  the  clothes  up  over  my  ears,  when 
Milly  began  to  sob. 

"  Oh,  pray  believe  me,  dear.  There  is  indeed 
some  one  getting  in." 

"  Didn't  you  send  me  downstairs  a  month  ago 
because  the  wind  rattled  the  front  door  1 "  I 
growled. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  dear ;  but  I'm  sure  this  time." 

"So  you  were  when  it  was  only  Jane  snoring 
upstairs." 

"  But  listen,  dear,  yourself. " 

"  So  I  did  when  the  sweeps  came  next  door  at 
six  o'clock," 


rs.    ji. 


76 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  But  I  heard  it  as  plain  as  possible — a  heavy, 
dull  noise,  aud  then  a  sharp  snap,  like  a  Avindow- 
fastening  forced  back.     I'm  sure  it's  thieves." 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  quietly,  "  you've  got  burglars 
on  the  brain.  I  shan't  get  up  so  that's  flat.  Go 
to  sleep  ;  no  one  will  come  here." 

"  Then  let  me  get  up  and  get  a  light — I'll  go, 
dear." 

"  Madam,  my  manhood's  honour " 

Bang  I  There  was  a  thud  which  shook  our 
window,  and  a  sti-ange,  gurgling  noise  succeeded 
it,  but  smothered  and  muffled,  as  if  some  one  was 
being  suffocated. 

"  There  I  "  exclaimed  Milly,  pitifully,  "  we  shall 
all  be  murdered.     Pray,  give  me  the  baby,  deai\" 

"  It's  only  Tom  Norris  dreaming  about  bull-fights 
in  Spain,"  I  .said,  hastily  drawing  on  some  clothes ; 
but  though  I  spoke  in  tones  of  credence,  and 
could  hear  some  one  moving  upstairs,  I  was  far 
from  satisfied. 

Lastly,  I  struck  a  light,  and  opened  the  door, 
just  as  one  was  opened  overhead. 

"  Anything  the  matter,  old  fellow  ? " 

"  Anything  the  matter,  old  fellow  ]  " 

These  two  questions  crossed  on  the  way  up  and 
down. 

"  I  thought  you  were  queer  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  queer  ! " 

These  remarks,  too,  crossed  ;  and  then  we  took 
counsel  for  a  moment  and  listened,  for  all  was 
perfectly  still. 

"  Well,  I'll  go  down  and  see,"  I  said  ;  for  that 
was  absolutely  necessary,  though  I  confess  I  did 
not  like  the  task. 

I  had  hardly  uttered  the  words  before  there 
ianie  up,  evidently  from  the  studio,  a  sound  as  of 
the  window  being  rattled  furiously,  then  a  hand 
was  beating  at  it  evidently,  and  before  we  could 
reach  the  door,  the  whole  house  was  filled  with  a 
most  dismal  howl  that  sounded  hardly  human. 
And  again,  in  an  instant — 

"  Help,  hell  I    Oh,  pray,  help  !  " 

"  This  is  a  rum  start,"  said  Tom  Norris,  as  I 
unlocked  the  door  and  threw  it  open ;  when  we 
entered  together,  and  I  held  up  the  light  above  my 
head. 

I  have  seen  strange  sights,  but  that  was  one  of 
the  most  strange  ;  for  there,  half  strangled  and 
with  starting  eyes,  was  the  head  of  a  man  appa- 
rently being  guillotined  by  the  window  sash, 
which  had  fallen  right  across  his  neck,  holding 
him  securely  there,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to 
move. 

I  could  read  at  a  glance  how  it  happened,  for 
the  broken  sash-Knes  hung  down  into  the  room. 
The  fallow  had  forced  back  the  catch,  and  thrown 
up  the  window  to  get  in  ;  when,  in  a  most  inop- 
portune moment  for  him,  the  lines  had  snapped, 
letting  the  heavy,  one-paned  sash  fall — fortunately 


for  the  scoundrel — upon  his  shoulders,  or  it  must 
have  been  his  death.  As  it  was,  he  had  wriggled 
and  struggled  hard,  striving  in  vain  to  free  him- 
self, till  the  sash  rented  upon  his  neck,  where  it 
glided  down  more  tightly ;  and,  as  his  efforts  grew 
weaker  and  his  hands  impotent  to  hold  it  up,  he 
hung  there  securely  trapped,  with  nothing  left  for 
him  to  do  but  howl  for  help. 

"  Well,  you're  a  pretty  sort  of  a  scoundrel,  you 
are,"  said  Tom,  coolly. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  sir,  let  me  go.  Oh,  pray, 
sir,  let  me  out,  aud  I'll  never  do  so  any  more.  I 
shall  be  dead  directly." 

"And  a  precious  good  job  too,"  said  Tom. 
"  We  could  get  on  very  well  without  burglars." 

"  But,  please,  sir,"  said  the  poor  wretch,  in  stifled 
tones,  "  I  aint  took  nothin'." 

"  How  many  pals  have  you  got  out  there  1 " 

"  Oh,  sir,  'strue  as  goodness,  sir,  only  two,  sir ; 
and  the  cowards  cut,  sir,  as  soon  as  they  saw  me 
here — hooked  it  like  a  pair  o'  sneaks,  sir;  but 
only  let  me  get  out,  sir,  please,  sir,  aud  I'll  blow 
on  'em  both,  sir.     0-h-h-h  ! " 

Here  the  poor  wretch  uttered  such  a  howl,  that 
I  ran  to  the  window. 

"  No,  no,  let  him  he,"  said  Tom,  coolly.  "  He 
wont  hurt.  I'll  see  to  him.  You  go  and  tell 
them  upstairs  that  we've  caught  the  scoundrel,  and 
they  need  not  be  afraid." 

I  ran  and  performed  the  task,  and  came  back 
to  find  Tom  arranging  the  light  so  that  it  fell  upon 
the  burglar's  face. 

"  Hadn't  we  better  drag  him  in,  and  tie  him 
hand  and  foot?  "I  said. 

"  Yes,  presently,"  said  Tom  coolly ;  "  but  I 
haven't  done  with  him  yet." 

"  Oh  !  "  groaned  the  burglar  in  a  faint  voi;e. 

"  Now,  look  here,  yoving  fellow,"  said  Tom. 
giving  him  a  sharp  cuff  on  the  ear, "  stop  that  row, 
please." 

"  But  I  can't  breathe,  governor  ;  'strue  as  good- 
ness^ I  can't." 

"  'Tis  rather  tight,"  said  Tom,  putting  his  hand 
to  the  fellow's  neck.  "  What  do  you  say  1 "  he 
continued,  turning  to  me.  "  Shall  we  press  the 
sash  down  hard,  and  put  him  out  of  his  misery  1 " 

The  poor  wretch  half  screwed  his  head  round  to 
gaze  at  the  speaker. 

"  What!  "  he  shrieked  hoarsely,  "  you  cowards  : 
murder  me,  would  you?  and  you  call  your- 
selves  " 

"  Pow !  " 

The  speech  was  cut  short  by  Tom  dabbing  a 
great  oily  painter's  cloth,  gag-like,  against  the 
fellow's  mouth. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  said  Tom.  "  You  make 
another  sound,  or  so  much  as  move,  and  I  squeeze 
your  throat  with  that  sash.  Here,  stick  this  book 
under  edgewise,  so  as  to  ease  his  neck   a  little. 


CHECK   TO   A   BURGLAR. 


There,  that  will  do.  Now,  hold  on,  my  lad,  and  be 
quiet." 

The  fellow  clung  convulsively  with  his  hands 
on  the  sill,  his  eyes  rolling  horribly  as  they 
followed  Tom  Norris's  movements,  my  curiosity 
being  moved  to  the  utmost. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

"  To  dol "  said  Tom,  catching  up  a  board,  brush, 
and  some  Indian  ink — "take  him,  of  course. 
What  model  could  ever  do  that  so  naturally  ? 
Make  your  hay,  my  boy,  while  the  sun  shines." 


the  same  moment  the  burglar  groaned,  faintly — 
"  I  can't  stand  this  much  longer,  guv'i)')r— pray 
let  me  go." 

And  a  heavy  knock  came  at  the  front  door. 

I  opened  to  the  police,  who  had  been  summoned 
by  Milly  from  the  front  window,  and  when  two 
men  entered  my  studio,  their  satisfied,  grim  ex- 
pression was  so  telling,  that  Tom  wanted  to  make 
another  sketch. 

However,  that  was  not  done,  and  he  was  satis- 
fied with  that  which  he  had  made,  helping  merrily 


'  Tom  painted  away. 


"  But  that  distorted  face  !  Oh,  come,  Tom,  let's 
have  in  the  police,  and  hand  him  over." 

"  No,  my  boy — not  if  I  know  it.  Too  great 
veneration  for  my  art." 

And  he  went  on  painting  away. 

"  But  of  what  good  1  " 

"  What  good  ?  Why,  my  dear  boy,  where  are 
your  eyes  1  A  Spanish  malefactor  in  the  garotte  ! 
Titus  Oates  in  the  pillory !  Splendid  subjects, 
both  of  them.  You  keep  him  quiet,  and  if  I  get 
a  good  sketch,  I  could  almost  forgive  him,  and  let 
him  go." 

I  kept  the  poor  wretch  quiet,  though  he  groaned 
heavily,  and  must,  I  am  sure,  have  suffered  no 
light  punishment.  Then  Tom  painted  away  with 
the  rapidity  of  a  finished  hand ;  but  at  one  and 


to  drag  in  our  prisoner,  while  I  held  up  the  heavy 
sash. 

"  Well,  sir,  all  I  can  say  is,"  said  the  sergeant,, 
as  he  fitted  on  the  handcuffs  to  the  shivering 
wretch's  wrists, "  if  you  set  that  there  trap  to  ketch 
burglars,  it  was  very  clever  ;  only,"  he  continued 
rather  contemptuously,  as  he  glanced  round  th& 
bare  studio,  "  I  don't  see  no  bait." 

I  think  I  need  say  no  more  than  that  her 
Majesty  is  to  provide  for  our  captive  for  some 
years  to  come ;  and  that  Tom  Norris  made  a. 
really  telling  Spanish  picture. 

As  for  the  burglars,  their  gang  was  broken  up, 
for  our  friend  did  turn  Queen's  evidence;  and 
our  pleasant  district  has  since  enjoyed  a  domestia 
peace  which  I  trust  may  last. 


78 


GLEANINGS    FROM    POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


]VIE.    AKD    MES.    TIBBS    AT    VAUXHALL. 

(By  Oliver  Goldsmith. > 


^  ]\Q  HE  people  of  London  are  as  fond  of  walking 
'^^IS-  ^^  ^^^  friends  at  Pekin  of  riding ;  one  of 
'^  -^  the  principal  entertainments  of  the  citizens 
here  in  summer  is  to  repair  about  nightfall  to  a 
pirden  not  far  from  town,  where  they  walk  about, 
show  their  best  clothes  and  best  faces,  and  listen 
to  a  concert  provided  for  the  occasion. 

I  accepted  an  invitation  a  few  evenings  ago  from 
my  old  friend,  the  man  in  black,  to  be  one  of  a 
juvrty  that  was  to  sup  there  ;  and  at  the  appointed 
Lour  waited  upon  him  at  his  lodgings.  There  I 
found  the  company  assembled  and  expecting  my 
arrival.  Our  party  consisted  of  my  friend,  in 
superlative  finery,  his  stockings  rolled,  a  black 
velvet  waistcoat  which  was  formerly  new,  and  a 
grey  wig  combed  down  in  imitation  of  hair ;  a 
pawnbroker's  widow,  of  whom,  by-the-by,  my 
friend  was  a  professed  admirer,  dressed  out  in 
gieen  damask,  with  three  gold  rings  on  every 
finger ;  Mr.  Tibbs,  the  second-rate  beau  I  have 
formerly  described,  together  with  his  lady,  in 
flimsy  silk,  dirty  gauze  instead  of  linen,  and  a  hat 
as  big  as  an  umbrella. 

Our  first  difficulty  was  in  settling  how  we  should 
set  out.  Mrs.  Tibbs  had  a  natural  aversion  to  the 
water,  and  the  widow  being  a  little  in  flesh,  as 
warmly  protested  against  walking ;  a  coach  was 
therefore  agreed  upon,  which  being  too  small  to 
carry  five,  Mr.  Tibbs  consented  to  sit  in  his  wife's 
lap. 

In  this  manner,  therefore,  we  set  forward,  being 
entertained  by  the  way  with  the  bodings  of  Mr. 
Tibbs,  who  assured  us,  he  did  not  expect  to  see  a 
single  creature  for  the  evening  above  the  degree  of 
a  cheesemonger  ;  that  this  was  the  last  night  of 
the  gardens,  and  that  consequently  we  should  be 
pestered  with  the  nobility  and  gentry  from  Thames 
Street  and  Crooked  Lane,  with  several  other  pro- 
phetic ejaculations,  probably  inspired  by  the  un- 
•easiness  of  his  situation. 


We  were  called  to  a  consultation  by  Mr.  Tibbs 
and  the  rest  of  the  company  to  know  in  what 
manner  we  were  to  lay  out  the  evening  to  the 
greatest  advantage.  Mrs.  Tibbs  was  for  keeping 
the  genteel  walk  of  the  garden,  where  she  observed 
there  was  always  the  very  best  company;  the 
widow,  on  the  contrary,  who  came  but  once  a 
season,  was  for  securing  a  good  standing-place  to 
see  the  water- works,  which  she  assured  us  would 
begin  in  less  than  an  hour  at  farthest ;  a  dispute 
therefore  began,  and  as  i#*was  managed  between 
:two  of  very  opposite  chkwfcters,  it  threatened  to 


grow  more  bitter  at  every  reply.  Mrs.  Tibbs 
wondered  how  people  could  pretend  to  know  the 
polite  world  who  had  received  all  their  rudiments 
of  breeding  behind  a  counter  ;  to  which  the  other 
replied,  that  though  some  people  sat  behind 
counters,  yet  they  could  sit  at  the  head  of  their 
own  tables  too,  and  carve  three  good  dishes  of  hot 
meat  whenever  they  thought  proper,  which  was 
more  than  some  people  could  say  for  themselves, 
that  hardly  knew  a  rabbit  and  onions  from  a  green 
goose  and  gooseberries. 

It  is  hard  to  say  where  this  might  have  ended, 
had  not  the  husband,  who  probably  knew  the 
impetuosity  of  his  wife's  disposition,  proposed  to 
end  the  dispute  by  adjourning  to  a  box,  and  tiy  if 
there  was  anything  to  be  had  for  supper  that  was 
supportable.  To  this  we  all  consented,  but  here  a 
new  distress  arose  ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tibbs  would  sit 
in  none  but  a  genteel  box,  a  box  where  they  might 
see  and  be  seen  ;  one,  as  they  expressed  it,  in  the 
very  focus  of  public  view  :  but  such  a  box  was 
not  easy  to  be  obtained,  for  though  we  were 
perfectly  convinced  of  our  own  gentility,  and  the 
gentility  of  our  appearance,  yet  we  found  it  a 
difficult  matter  to  persuade  the  keepers  of  the 
boxes  to  be  of  our  opinion  ;  they  chose  to  reserve 
genteel  boxes  for  what  they  judged  more  genteel 
company. 

At  last,  however,  we  were  fixed,  though  some- 
what obscurely,  and  supplied  with  the  usual  enter- 
tainment of  the  place.  The  widow  found  the 
supper  excellent,  but  Mrs,  Tibbs  thought  every- 
thing detestable.  "  Come,  come,  my  dear,"  cries 
the  husband,  by  way  of  consolation,  "  to  be  sure 
we  can't  find  such  dressing  here  as  we  have  at  lord 
Crump's  or  lady  Crimp's ;  but  for  Vauxhall 
dressing  it  is  pretty  good  ;  it  is  not  their  victuals 
indeed  I  find  fault  with,  but  their  wine ;  their 
wine,"  cries  he,  drinking  off  a  glass,  "  indeed,  is 
most  abominable." 

By  this  last  contradiction  the  widow  was  fairly 
conquered  in  point  of  politeness.  She  perceived 
now  that  she  had  no  pretensions  in  the  world  to 
taste,  Jier  very  senses  were  vulgar,  since  she  had 
praised  detestable  custard,  and  smacked  at 
wretched  wine  ;  she  was  therefore  content  to 
yield  the  victory,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  night  to 
listen  and  improve.  It  is  true,  she  would  now 
and  then  forget  herself,  and  confess  she  was 
pleased,  but  they  soon  brought  her  back  again  to 
miserable  refinement.  She  once  praised  the 
painting  of  the  box  in  which  we  were  sitting,  but 
was  soon  convinced  that  such  paltry  pieces  ought 
rather  to  excite    horror    than   satisfaction ;    she 


MR.    AND   MRS.    TIBBS   AT   YAUXHALL. 


7^ 


ventured  again  to  commend  one  of  the  singers, 
but  Mrs.  Tibbs  soon  let  her  know,  in  the  style  of 
a  connoisseur,  that  the  singer  in  question  had 
neither  ear,  voice,  nor  judgment. 

Mr.  Tibbs,  now  willing  to  prove  that  his  wife's 
pretensions  to  music  were  just,  intreated  her  to 
favour  the  company  with  a  song ;  but  to  this  she 
gave  a  positive  denial,  "for  you  know  very  well, my 
dear,"  says  she,  "that  I  am  not  in  voice  to-day, 
and  when  one's  voice  is  not  equal  to  one's  judg- 
ment, what  signifies  singing  1  besides,  as  there  is 
no  accompaniment,  it  would  be  but  spoiling 
music."  All  these  excuses,  however,  were  over- 
ruled by  the  rest  of  the  company,  who,  though 
one  would  think  they  already  had  music  enough, 
joined  in  the  intreaty.  But  particularly  the 
widow,  now  willing  to  convince  the  company  of 
her  breeding,  pressed  so  warmly,  that  she  seemed 
determined  to  take  no  refusal.  At  last  then  the 
lady  complied,  and  after  humming  for  some 
minutes,  began  with  such  a  voice,  and  such  affec- 
tation, as  I  could  perceive  gave  but  little  satisfac- 
tion to  any  except  her  husband.  He  sat  with 
rapture  in  his  eye,  and  beat  time  with  his  hand 
on  the  table. 

You  must  observe,  my  friend,  that  it  is  the 
custom  of  this  country,  when  a  lady  or  gentleman 
happens  to  sing,  for  the  company  to  sit  as  mute 
and  motionless  as  statues.  Every  feature,  every  ' 
limb,  must  seem  to  correspond  in  fixed  attention, 
and  while  the  song  continues,  they  are  to  remain 
in  a  state  of  universal  petrifaction.  In  this 
mortifying  situation  we  had  continued  for  some 
time,  listening  to  the  song,  and  looking  with  tran- 
quillity, when  the  master  of  the  box  came  to 


inform  us  that  the  water-works  were  going  to 
begin.  At  this  information  I  could  instantly  per- 
ceive the  widow  bounce  from  her  seat ;  but 
correcting  herself,  she  sat  down  again,  repressed 
by  motives  of  good  breeding.  Mrs.  Tibbs,  wha 
had  seen  the  water-works  a  hundred  times,, 
resolving  not  to  be  interrupted,  continued  her 
song  without  any  share  of  mercy,  nor  had  the 
smallest  pity  on  our  impatience.  Tlie  widow's 
face,  I  own,  gave  me  high  entertainment ;  in  it  I 
could  plainly  read  the  struggle  she  felt  between 
good  breeding  and  curiosity ;  she  talked  of  the 
water- works  the  whole  evening  before,  and  seemed 
to  have  come  merely  in  order  to  see  them  ;  but 
then  she  could  not  bounce  out  in  the  very  middle 
of  a  song,  for  that  would  be  forfeiting  all  preten- 
sions to  high  life,  or  high-lived  company,  ever 
after.  Mrs.  Tibbs  therefore  kept  on  singing,  and 
we  continued  to  listen,  till  at  last,  when  the  song- 
was  just  concluded,  the  waiter  came  to  inform  us 
that  the  water- works  were  over. 

"  The  water-works  over  ! "  cried  the  widow  : 
"  the  water-works  over  already  1  that's  impossible, 
they  can't  be  over  so  soon  ! "  "  It  is  not  my 
business,"  replied  the  fellow,  "  to  contradict  your 
ladyship,  I'll  run  again  and  see ; "  he  went,  and 
soon  returned  with  a  confirmation  of  the  dismal 
tidings.  No  ceremony  could  now  bind  my  friend's 
disappointed  mistress,  she  testified  her  displeasure 
in  the  openest  manner ;  in  short,  she  now  began 
to  find  fault  in  turn,  and  at  last,  insisted  upon 
going  home,  just  at  the  time  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tibbs  assured  the  company  that  the  polite  hours 
were  going  to  begin,  and  that  the  ladies  would 
instantaneously  be  entertained  with  clie  horns. 


THE    TIGER. 


(By  WiLiiUM  Bi.AKE.] 


"  Tiger,  Tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night, 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Could  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  I 

In  what  distant  deeps  or  skies 
Burnt  the  fire  of  thine  eyes  1 
On  what  wings  dare  he  aspire  1 
What  the  hand  dare  seize  the  fire  1 

And  what  shoulder,  and  what  art 
Could  twist  the  sinews  of  thy  heart  1 
And  where  thy  heart  began  to  beat. 
What  dread  hand,  and  what  dread  feet ! 


What  the  hammer  1    What  the  chain  ? 
In  what  furnace  was  thy  brain  ] 
What  the  anvil  1    What  dread  .grasp 
Dare  its  deadly  terrors  clasp  ? 

When  the  stars  threw  down  their  spears. 
And  water'd  heaven  M'ith  their  tears. 
Did  He  smile  His  work  to  see  1 
Did  He  who  made  the  lamb  make  thee  ? 

Tiger,  tiger,  burning  bright 
In  the  forests  of  the  night. 
What  immortal  hand  or  eye 
Dare  frame  thy  fearful  symmetry  1 


80 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


THE    DREAM    OF    EUGENE    AEAM. 

[By  Thomas  Hood.] 


^  vVAS  in  the  prime  of  summer  time, 
An  evening  calm  and  cool, 
And  four-and-twenty  happy  boys 

Came  bounding  out  of  school. 
There  were  some  that  ran  and  some 
that  leapt, 
Like  troutlets  in  a  pool. 

Away  they  sped  with  gamesome  minds, 

Ajid  souls  untouched  by  sin  ; 
To  a  level  mead  they  came,  and  there 

They  drave  the  wickets  in  : 
Pleasantly  shone  the  setting  sun 

Over  the  town  of  Lynn. 

Like  sportive  deer  they  coursed  about, 

And  shouted  as  they  ran, — 
Turning  to  m'rth  all  things  of  earth, 

As  only  boyhood  can  ; 
But  the  usher  sat  remote  from  all, 

A  melancholy  man ! 

His  hat  was  off,  his  vest  apart, 
To  catch  heaven's  blessed  breeze. 

For  a  burning  thought  was  in  his  brow, 
And  his  bosom  ill  at  ease  : 

So  he  lean'd  his  head  o  i  his  hands,  and  read 
The  book  between  his  knees ! 

Leaf  after  leaf  he  turn'd  it  o'er, 

Nor  ever  glanced  aside  ; 
For  the  peace  of  his  soul  he  read  that  book 

In  the  golden  eventide  : 
Much  study  had  made  him  very  lean, 

And  pale,  and  leaden-eyed. 

At  last  he  shut  the  ponderous  tome, 

With  a  fast  and  fervent  grasp 
He  strain'd  the  dusky  covers  close. 

And  fix'd  the  brazen  hasp  : 
"  Oh  God,  could  I  so  close  my  mind, 

And  clasp  it  with  a  clasp  ! " 

Then  leaping  on  his  feet  upright, 

Some  moody  turns  he  took, — 
Now  up  the  mead,  then  down  the  mead. 

And  i)ast  a  shady  nook, — 
And  lo  !  he  saw  a  little  boy 

That  pored  upon  a  book ! 

•  My  gentle  lad,  what  is't  you  read — 

Romance  or  fairy  fable  1 
Or  is  it  some  historic  page. 

Of  kings  and  crowns  unstable  1 " 
The  young  boy  ga«©  an  upward  glance,— 

"  It  is  'The  Deatli  of  Abel.'  " 


The  usher  took  six  hasty  sti'ides. 

As  smit  with  sudden  pain, — 
Six  hasty  strides  beyond  the  place, 

Then  slowly  back  again  ; 
And  down  he  sat  beside  the  lad, 

And  talk'd  with  liiui  of  Cain  ; 

And  long  since  then,  of  bloody  men, 

Whose  deeds  tradition  saves  ; 
Of  lonely  folk  cut  otF  unseen, 

And  hid  in  sudden  graves  ; 
Of  horrid  stabs,  in  gi'oves  forlorn. 

And  murders  done  in  caves  ; 

And  how  the  sprites  of  injured  men 
Shriek  upward  from  the  sod,— 

Aye,  how  the  ghostly  hand  will  point 
To  show  the  burial  clod  ; 

And  unknown  facts  of  guilty  acts 
Are  seen  in  dreams  from  God  ! 

He  told  how  murderers  walk  the  earth 

Beneath  the  curse  of  Cain, — 
With  crimson  clouds  before  their  eyes. 

And  flames  about  their  brain  : 
For  blood  has  left  upon  their  souls 

Its  everlasting  stain ! 

"  And  well,"  quoth  he,  "  I  know,  for  truth, 
Their  pangs  must  be  extreme, — 

Woe,  woe,  unutterable  woe — 
Who  spill  life's  sacred  stream  ! 

For  why  1    Methought,  last  night,  I  wrought 
A  murder  in  a  dre:im  ! 

"  One  that  had  never  done  me  wrong — 

A  feeble  man,  and  old  : 
I  led  him  to  a  lonely  field, 

The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold. 
Now  here,  said  I,  this  man  shall  die, 

And  T  will  have  his  gold  ! 

"  Two  sudden  blows  with  a  ragged  stick, 
And  one  with  a  heavy  stone, 
One  hurried  gash  with  a  hasty  knife, — 

And  then  the  deed  was  done  : 
There  was  nothing  lying  at  my  foot 
But  lifeless  flesh  and  bone  ! 

"  Nothing  but  lifeless  flesh  and  bone, 

That  could  not  do  me  ill  ; 
And  yet  I  feared  him  all  the  more. 

For  lying  there  so  still : 
There  was  a  manhood  in  his  look, 

That  murder  could  not  kill  1 


THE   DREAM   OF   EUGENE   ARAM. 


81 


"  And  lo  !  the  universal  air 

Seem'd  lit  with  ghastly  flame, — 

Ten  thousand,  thousand  dreadful  eyes 
Were  looking  down  in  blame  : 

I  took  the  dead  man  by  the  hand, 
And  called  upon  his  name ! 

"  O  God,  it  made  me  (luake  to  see 
Such  sense  within  the  slain  ! 

But  when  I  touched  the  lifeless  clay, 
The  blood  gushed  out  amain ! 

For  every  clot  a  burning  spot 
Was  scorching  in  my  brain  ! 


"  Down  went  the  corse  with  a  hollow  plunge, 

And  vanished  in  the  pool ; 
Anon  I  cleansed  my  bloody  hands, 

And  washed  my  forehead  cool, 
And  sat  among  the  urchins  young, 

That  evening  in  the  school ! 

"  Oh  heaven,  to  think  of  their  white  souls, 
And  mine  so  black  and  grim  ! 
I  could  not  share  in  childish  prayer, 

Nor  join  in  evening  hymn  : 
Like  a  devil  of  the  pit  I  seem'd, 
Mid  holy  cherubim ! 


'Down  he  sat  beside  the  lad.' 


"  My  head  was  like  an  ardent  coal, 

My  heart  as  solid  ice ; 
My  wretched,  wretched  soul,  I  knew, 

Was  at  the  devil's  price  : 
A  dozen  times  I  groaned  ;  the  dead 

Had  never  groaned  but  twice ! 

"And  now,  from  forth  the  frowning  sky 
From  the  heaven's  topmost  height, 
I  heard  a  voice — the  awful  voice 
Of  the  Blood- Avenging  Sprite  : — 

'  Thou  guilty  man  !  take  up  thy  dead. 
And  hide  it  from  my  sight ! ' 

"  I  took  the  dreary  body  up, 

And  cast  it  in  a  stream — 
A  sluggish  water,  black  as  ink, 

The  depth  was  so  extreme  : — 
My  gentle  boy,  remember  this 

Is  nothing  but  a  dream ! — 


"  And  peace  went  with  them,  one  and  all. 

And  each  calm  pillow  spread  ; 
But  Guilt  was  my  grim  chamberlain 

That  lighted  me  to  bed  ; 
And  drew  my  midnight  curtains  round 

With  fingers  bloody  red  ! 

"  All  night  I  lay  in  agony. 

In  anguish  dark  and  deep  ; 
My  fever'd  eyes  I  dared  not  close, 

But  stared  aghast  at  Sleep  : 
For  Sin  had  render'd  unto  her 

The  keys  of  hell  to  keep  ! 

"  All  ni^t  I  lay  in  agony. 

From  weary  chime  to  chime  ; 
With  one  besetting  horrid  hint, 

That  racked  me  all  the  time, — 
A  mighty  yielding,  like  the  first 
Fierce  impulse  unto  crime  ! 


S2 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  One  stern  tyrannic  thought,  that  made 

All  other  thoughts  its  slave  ; 
Stronger  and  stronger  every  pulse 

Did  that  temptation  crave, — 
Still  urging  me  to  go  and  see 

The  dead  man  in  his  grave ! 

"  Heavily  I  rose  up,  as  soon 

As  light  was  in  the  sky, 
And  sought  the  bleak  accursed  pool 

With  a  wild  misgiving  eye  ; 
And  I  saw  the  dead  in  the  river-bed, 

For  the  faithless  stream  was  dry ! 

**  Merrily  rose  the  lark,  and  shook 

The  dewdrop  from  its  wing  ; 
Eut  I  never  mark'd  its  morning  flight, 

I  never  heard  it  sing  : 
For  I  was  stooping  once  again 

Under  the  horrid  thing. 

"  With  breathless  speed,  like  a  soul  in  chase, 

I  took  him  up  and  ran, — 
There  was  no  time  to  dig  a  grave 

Before  the  day  began  : 
In  a  lonesome  wood,  with  lieaps  of  leaves 

I  hid  the  murdered  man ! 

**  And  all  that  day  I  read  in  school, 
But  my  thought  was  other-where  ; 

As  soon  as  the  mid-day  task  was  done. 
In  secret  I  was  there  : 

And  a  mighty  wind  had  swept  the  leaves. 
And  still  the  corse  was  bare ! 


"  Then  down  I  cast  me  on  my  face. 

And  first  began  to  weep, 
For  I  knew  my  secret  then  was  one 

That  earth  refused  to  keep  ; 
Or  land,  or  sea,  though  he  should  be 

Ten  thousand  fathoms  deep  ! 

"  So  wills  the  fierce  Avenging  Sprite, 

Till  blood  for  blood  atones  ! 
Ay,  though  he's  buried  in  a  cave. 

And  trodden  down  with  stones, 
And  years  have  rotted  ofi"  his  flesh — 

The  world  shall  see  his  bones ! 

"  Oh  God,  that  horrid,  horrid  dream 

Besets  me  now  awake ! 
Again — again,  with  a  dizzy  brain. 

The  human  life  I  take  ; 
And  my  red  right  hand  grows  raging  hot 

Like  Cranmer's  at  the  stake. 

"  And  still  no  peace  for  tlie  restless  clay 

Will  wave  or  mould  allow  ; 
The  horrid  thing  pursues  my  soul, — 

It  stands  before  me  now !  " — 
The  fearful  boy  looked  up,  and  saw 

Huge  drops  upon  his  brow ! 

That  very  niglit,  while  gentle  sleep 

The  urchin  eyelids  kiss'd. 
Two  stern-faced  men  set  out  from  Lynn, 

Through  the  cold  and  heavy  mist ; 
And  Eugene  Aram  walked  between, 

AVith  gyves  upon  his  wrist. 


BAEON     TEENCK. 


EEDERIC  BAEON  TEENCK,  bom 
at  Konigsberg  in  1726,  was  the  son 
of  a  superior  officer  in  the  Prussian 
army,  and  cousin-german  of  the 
famous  Trenck,  colonel  of  the  Pan- 
dours  in  the  service  of  Maria  Theresa, 
the  age  of  eighteen  he  became  an  officer 
in  the  body-guard  of  Frederic  II.,  and  he 
was  high  in  the  favour  of  that  prince.  But  the 
intelligence,  the  bravery,  and  the  brilliant  exploits 
to  which  he  owed  that  favour  had  also  procured 
him  many  enemies  who  knew  how  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  indiscretions  of  a  high-spirited  young 
man.  Trenck  was  presumptuous  enough  to  aspire 
to  the  regard  of  the  Princess  Amelia,  sister  of  the 
king ;  and  this  was  undoubtedly  the  main  cause 
of  his  disgrace,  though  not  the  only  one. 

An  imprudent  correspondence  with  his  cousin, 
the  Austrian  colonel,  was  made  the  pretext  of 


his  earliest  imprisonment  in  the  castle  of  Glatz. 
Trenck,  who  could  not  conceive  that  a  man  of 
his  rank  and  distinction  should  remain  long  in 
duress,  wrote  a  somewhat  bold  letter  to  the  king, 
demanding  to  be  tried  by  a  military  tribunal. 
Frederick  did  not  respond,  and  Trenck,  seeing 
that  his  place  in  the  royal  body-guard  had  been 
given  to  another,  after  peace  had  been  concluded, 
began  to  meditate  upon  escape. 

His  first  attempt  ended  quickly  in  mortifying 
failure.  He  had  won  over  many  of  the  guards  of 
the  castle  by  a  liberal  use  of  money,  with  which 
he  was  abundantly  supplied.  Two  of  them  agreed 
to  aid  him  and  accompany  him  in  his  flight,  but 
the  three  most  imprudently  desired  to  carry  off" 
with  them  an  officer  who  had  been  condemned  ta 
ten  years'  imprisonment  in  the  same  fortress. 

WTien  all  their  preparations  had  been  made, 
this  scoundrel,  whom  Trenck  had  loaded  with 


BARON   TRENCK. 


83 


favours,  betrayed  them,  and  received  his  pardon 
as  the  price  of  his  perfidy.  One  of  the  officers 
was  warned  in  time  to  save  himself,  and  the  other 
^ot  off  with  a  year's  confinement,  by  dint  of 
Trenck's  money.  As  for  the  baron  himself,  from 
this  day  forward  he  was  more  narrowly  guarded. 
But  years  afterwards  the  villain  who  had  sold 
them,  meeting  Trenck  at  Warsaw,  received  the 
chastisement  he  deserved,  and,  desiring  satisfaction 
with  weapons,  was  left  dead  on  the  spot. 

The  king  was  greatly  incensed  at  this  attempted 
■escape,  the  more  so  as  he  had  already  promised, 
at  the  earnest  entreaty  of  Trenck's  mother,  to 
release  him  in  a  year.  But  Trenck  had,  unfor- 
tunately, been  kept  in  ignorance  of  this  latter 
circumstance.  He  was  not  long,  however,  before 
he  made  another  desperate  effort  to  recover  his 
liberty — one  which  covered  him  at  once  with  mud 
and  ridicule. 

The  baron  was  confined  in  a  tower  looking  out 
upon  the  town.  By  making  a  saw  of  a  pocket-knife 
he  was  enabled  to  cut  through  three  bars  of  his 
window-grating.  An  officer  then  procured  him  a 
file,  with  which  he  severed  five  more.  Then,  with 
a  rope  made  of  strips  of  leather  cut  from  his 
portmanteau  and  of  the  coverlet  of  his  bed,  he 
slid  down  without  accident  to  the  ground.  The 
night  was  dark  and  rainy,  and  all  things  favoured 
the  fugitive.  But  an  unexpected  difficulty  pre- 
sented itself  in  a  sewer,  which  he  was  compelled 
to  cross  in  order  to  reach  the  town,  and  there  the 
luckless  baron  floundered,  being  neither  able  to 
advance  nor  to  retire,  and  was  at  last  fain  to  call 
upon  the  sentinel  to  extricate  him. 

Eight  days  only  had  elapsed  after  this  most 
absurd  and  unfortunate  adventure,  when  Trenck, 
with  unparalleled  audacity,  had  nearly  gained  his 
liberty  in  a  way  wholly  unpremeditated.  The 
commandant  of  the  castle  made  him  a  visit  of 
inspection,  and  improved  the  opportunity  of  giving 
this  desperate  young  fellow  a  lecture  on  his  fre- 
quent attempts  at  escape,  by  which  he  said  his 
•crime  had  been  seriously  aggravated  in  the  king's 
■estimation. 

The  baron  fired  up  at  the  word  "crime,"  and 
demanded  to  know  for  how  long  a  term  he  had 
been  consigned  to  the  fortress.  The  commandant 
replied  that  an  officer  who  had  been  detected  in  a 
treasonable  correspondence  with  the  enemies  of 
his  country  could  never  expect  the  pardon  of  the 
king.  The  hilt  of  the  commandant's  sword  was 
within  easy  and  tempting  grasp ;  there  were  only 
a  sentinel  and  an  officer  of  the  guard  in  attendance  ; 
it  seemed  a  golden  moment ;  Trenck  seized  it, 
in  seizing  the  sword,  rushing  rapidly  from  the 
room,  hurling  the  sentinel  and  the  officer  down 
the  stairs,  and  cutting  his  way  out  of  the  building. 

He  leaped  the  first  rampart  and  fell  upon  his 
feet  in  the  fosse ;  he  leaped  the  second  rampart,  a 


yet  more  daring  and  perilous  venture,  and  again 
fell  upon  his  feet,  without  so  much  as  losing  hold 
of  the  major's  sword.  There  was  not  time  for  the 
garrison  to  load  a  piece,  and  no  one  was  disposed 
to  pursue  the  baron  along  the  steep  way  he  had 
chosen.  It  was  a  considerable  d6tour  from  the 
interior  of  the  castle  to  the  outer  rampart,  and 
Trenck  would  have  had  a  good  half -hour's  start  of 
his  pursuers  had  fortune,  so  far  propitious,  con- 
tinued to  favour  him.  A  sentry  with  a  fixed 
bayonet  opposed  him  in  a  narrow  passage  ;  the 
baron  cut  him  down. 

Another  sentry  ran  after  him ;  Trenck  attempted 
to  jump  over  a  palisade,  but  caught  his  foot 
between  two  of  the  timbers  beyond  all  hope  of 
extrication,  seeing  that  the  unreasonable  sentry 
held  on  to  it  with  dogged  persistence  until  aid 
arrived,  and  then  the  baron  was  carried  back  to 
the  castle  once  more  and  put  under  stricter  sur- 
veillance than  ever. 

A  lieutenant,  whose  name  was  Bach,  a  Dane, 
mounted  guard  every  fourth  day,  and  was  the 
terror  of  the  whole  garrison  ;  for  being  a  perfect 
master  of  arms,  he  was  incessantly  involved  in 
quarrels,  and  generally  left  his  marks  behind  him. 
He  had  served  in  two  regiments,  neither  of  which 
would  associate  with  him  for  this  reason,  and  he 
had  been  sent  to  the  garrison  regiment  at  Glatz  as 
a  punishment. 

Bach,  one  day  sitting  beside  Trenck,  related 
how  the  evening  before  he  had  wounded  a  lieu- 
tenant, of  the  name  of  Schell,  in  the  arm.  Trench 
replied,  laughing,  "  Had  I  my  liberty,  I  believe 
you  would  find  some  trouble  in  wounding  me,  for 
I  have  some  skill  in  the  sword."  The  blood 
instantly  flew  into  Bach's  face.  They  split  off  a  kind 
of  a  pair  of  foils  from  an  old  door,  which  had 
served  as  a  table,  and  at  the  first  lunge  Trenck  hit 
him  on  the  breast. 

Bach's  rage  at  once  became  ungovernable,  and 
he  left  the  prison.  To  the  great  astonishment  of 
Trenck,  he  returned,  a  moinent  later,  with  two 
soldiers'  swords,  which  he  had  concealed  undei 
his  coat.  "Now  then,  boaster,  jirove,"  said  he, 
giving  one  of  them  to  the  baron,  "  what  thou  art 
able  to  do."  Trenck  endeavoured  to  pacify  his 
opponent,  by  representing  the  danger;  but  in- 
effectually. Bach  attacked  him  with  the  utmost 
fury,  and  was  speedily  wounded  in  the  arm. 

Throwing  his  sword  down,  Bach  fell  upon 
Trenck's  neck,  kissed  him,  and  wept.  At  length, 
after  some  convulsive  emotions  of  pleasure,  he 
said,  "  Friend,  thou  art  my  master,  and  thou  must, 
thou  shalt,  by  my  ajjj,  obtain  thy  liberty,  as  certain 
as  my  name  is  Bach." 

Talking  the  matter  over  with  him  afterwards, 
he  told  the  baron  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  get  away  safely  unless  the  officer  of  the 
guard  went  witlx  him  ;   that  for  himself  he  was 


84 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


TrENCK   E3CAPIKO   WITH    LIEUTENANT   SCHELL. 


ready  to  make  any  sacrifice  for  him  short  of  his 
honour,  and  that  to  desert,  being  on  guard,  would 
be  dishonourable.  But  he  promised  him  every 
assistance,  and  the  next  day  he  brought  to  him 
Lieutenant  Schell,  saying,  "  Here's  your  man." 
Schell  vowed  perfect  devotion,  and  the  two  imme- 
diately began  to  concert  measures  for  getting  off. 

Their  project  was  precipitated  in  consequence 
of  Schell's  having  discovered  that  he  had  been 
betrayed  to  the  commandant.  A  fellow-officer. 
Lieutenant  Schroeder,  gave  him  the  intelligence 
in  full  time  for  him  to  have  saved  himself,  and 
even  offered  to  accompany  him  ;  but  Schell,  faith- 
ful to  Trenck,  refused  to  abandon  him.  Unwilling 
to  risk  an  arrest  by  delay,  however,  he  went  at 
once  to  Trenck's  room,  carrjung  him  a  sabre,  and 
.said  to  him  : 

"  My  fiiend,  we  are  betrayed ;  follow  me,  and 
do  not  permit  my  enemies  to  take  me  alive." 
Trenck  tried  to  speak,  but  he  seized  his  hand, 
repeating,  "  Follow  me,  we  have  not  a  moment  to 
lose." 

There  was  a  sentinel  close  at  hand,  but  Schell 
boldly  led  Trenck  towards  him,  saying,  "  Remain 
here  ;  I  am  to  take  the  prisoner  to  the  officers' 
quarters." 

In  this  direction  Schell  quietly  marched  his 
companion,  but  soon  after  turned  off  in  a  contrary 
course,  making  for  the  passage  below  the 
arsenal,  from  whence;*he  hoped  to  reach  the 
outer  works  of  the  fortress,  and  climb  over  the 
palisades. 


The  plan  was  well  made,  but  frustrated  by  their 
encountering  a  couple  of  officers,  to  avoid  Avhom 
they  made  for  the  parapet  which  at  this  point  was 
not  very  high.  Wifhout  hesitation  they  leaped 
downi,  Trenck  escaping  with  a  slight  scratch,  but 
his  less  fortunate  companion  sprained  his  ankle. 

By  making  strenuous  efforts  they  reached  the 
open  country,  but  in  a  sad  plight.  It  was  the 
depth  of  winter,  with  the  snow-covered  ground  hard 
frozen,  and  a  dense  fog  around.  They  could  hear 
the  alarm  guns  from  the  castle  ;  Schell's  ankle 
gave  him  great  pain,  and  they  knew  that  their 
pursuers  must  be  on  their  track.  But  Trenck 
was  indomitable  ;  partly  carrying,  partly  dragging, 
he  got  his  friend  to  the  river  Neiss,  and  in  spite 
of  the  gathering  ice  swam  with  him  across  in  the 
parts  where  it  was  not  fordable.  Then  perishing 
nearly  from  cold,  weariness,  and  hunger,  they 
struggled  onward  till  morning,  hesitating  what 
they  should  next  do. 

The  only  plan  that  offered  itself  was  to  apply  at  the 
nearest  house  for  food  and  help.  Trenck,  whose 
hands  Schell  tied  behind  him,  and  who  had 
smeared  his  face  with  blood,  posed  as  a  culprit 
whom  Schell  desired  to  take  without  delay  to  the 
nearest  justice.  He  had  killed  Schell's  horse,  so 
the  lieutenant's  fiction  ran,  and  caused  him  to 
sprain  his  ankle,  notwithstanding  which  Schell 
had  given  him  some  sabre  cuts,  disabling  him, 
and  had  succeeded  in  pinioning  him,  and  now 
what  he  wanted  was  a  vehicle  to  convey  them  to 
town.     This  story  Schell  told  with  great  gravity  to 


JACK   GOODWIN'S   JOKE. 


85 


two  peasants  at  the  door  of  their  house,  when  the 
elder  of  them,  a  man  advanced  in  years,  called 
the  lieutenant  by  name,  informing  him  that  they 
were  well  known  for  deserters,  as  an  officer,  the 
evening  previous,  had  been  at  the  house  of  a 
farmer  near  by,  and  had  given  their  names  and 
a  description  of  the  clothes  they  wore,  narrating, 
at  the  same  time,  all  the  circumstances  of  their 
flight. 

But  the  old  peasant,  who  had  known  Schell 
from  having  seen  him  often  at  the  village  when 
he  was  there  in  garrison,  and  who  besides  had  a 
son  in  the  lieutenant's  company,  had  no  thought 
of  informing  upon  them,  and  though  he  begged 
hard  for  his  horses,  he  yet  permitted  the  runaways 
to  take  two  from  the  stable. 

Thus  furnished  they  mounted  their  bare-backed 
steeds,  and  hatless  and  dishevelled,  with  their 
whole  appearance  betraying  what  they  were,  they 
tore  through  the  country,  passing  village  after 
village,  whose  inhabitants,  fortunately  for  the 
fugitives,  were  keeping  a  festival,  and  so  for  the 
most  part  they  escaped  without  notice. 

Their  route  took  them  straight  for  the  frontier, 
which  they  had  nearly  reached  when,  to  their 
dismay,  they  found  themselves  in  the  near  neigh- 
bourhood of  a  body  of  cavalry,  and  their  capture 
seemed  certain,  but  to  Schell's  great  delight  fortune 
favoured  them,  the  officer  in  command  proving  to 


be  an  old  friend,  who  warned  the  fugitives  to  take 
another  road.  Pursuing  this,  the  rest  of  their 
adventures  were  trifling,  and  their  courage  and 
perseverance  were  rewarded  by  their  finding  the 
way  across  the  frontier  open  to  them,  and  at  last 
Trenck  was  free. 

But,  says  a  chronicler  of  his  adventures, 
"the  baron  was  far  from  being  a  happy  man. 
Pursued  by  the  vengeance  of  Frederick,  and  sorely 
beset  by  Prussian  spies,  who  tried  to  kidnap  him, 
he  wandered  miserably  about  for  many  months, 
and  subsequently  took  service  in  the  Austrian 
army.  Finally,  after  many  wonderful  adventures, 
he  was  basely  given  up  by  the  governor  and 
authorities  of  the  town  of  Dantzig  to  the  Prussian 
king.  This  sad  mischance  completely  demoralised 
Trenck.  Though  many  opportunities  were  afforded 
him  to  get  away  from  the  escort  that  convoyed 
him  to  Prussia,  he  had  not  the  spirit  to  do  so. 
Again  he  was  consigned  to  prison.  This  time 
they  took  him  to  Magdeburg  and  locked  him  up 
in  the  citadel. 

"  His  subsequent  life  in  the  fortress  of  Magdeburg 
was  but  a  repetition  of  his  previous  unremitting 
efforts  at  escape  ;  but  he  never  again  left  the 
prison  until  he  was  released  by  order  of  the  king. 
He  lived  many  years  after  his  liberation,  and  was 
guillotined  at  Paris  in  the  Revolution,  at  the  same 
time  with  Andre  Chenier." 


JACK     GOODWIN^S     JOKE. 


I ACK  GOODWIN  ought  to  have  known 
better :  he  was  old  enough — close  on 
five-and-twenty — when  he  did  it,  and 
he  ought  to  have  been  wiser.  What 
sum  it  cost  him  was  known  only  to  his 
%V  publisher.  It  must  have  been  something 
»v)  considerable,  for  paper  and  printing  are 
expensive  luxuries  in  the  colonies.  "  Posies 
culled  from  Fancy's  Bower  "  was  the  preposterous 
title  of  his  production.  It  was  a  small  octavo 
volume  of  two  hundred  pages,  bound  in  green 
cloth,  and,  I  have  i-eason  to  know,  it  was  contem- 
plated by  Jack  with  much  inward  satisfaction. 

Jack  was  clerk  in  a  store  in  the  thriving  town- 
ship of  Maplewood,  in  the  Ovens  district,  about  a 
hundred  and  eighty  miles  from  Melbourne,  Maple- 
wood  supported  two  newspapers  —  the  Ovens 
Banner  and  the  Ovens  Herald,  to  each  of  which 
he  had  sent  a  copy  of  his  little  book.  From  the 
latter  paper  he  received  a  very  flattering  notice. 

" '  Posies  culled  from  Fancy's  Bower,'  "  wrote  the 
editor  of  that  periodical,  "  is  a  volume  of  poetry 
written    by  our   talented    townsman,  Mr.    John 


Goodwin,  and  deserves  from  us  something  more 
than  a  passing  notice.  In  this  utilitarian  age, 
when  the  thirst  for  gain  engrosses  all  the  nobler 
sympathies  of  our  nature,  we  are  too  apt  to 
forget  those  higher  and  better  aims  which  refine 
and  elevate  humanity  above  the  level  of  the  sordid, 
mercenary  crowd." 

This  notice  was  highly  satisfactory  to  Jack.  It 
confirmed  him  in  his  already  high  opinion  of  his 
poetic  bantling ;  and  he  looked  eagerly  for  the 
next  issue  of  the  Banner,  which  he  hoped  would 
contain  a  notice  of  his  book  equally  flattering. 
But  in  this  he  was  disappointed.  The  two 
newspapers  were  fiercely  antagonistic.  Conse- 
quently, on  the  morning  following  the  Herald's 
notice  of  Jack's  book,  the  Banner  contained  the 
following  : — 

"We  have  been  favoured  with  a  volume  of 
verses,  entitled  'Posies  culled  from  Fancy's  Bower,' 
written  by  a  well-known  and  highly  respected 
young  gentleman  residing  in  our  midst,  whose 
name,  from  motives  of  delicacy,  we  refrain  from 
mentioning.  We  regret  that  an  otherwise  estimable 


86 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


and  promising  young  man  should  have  been  so 
ill-advised  as  to  publish  this  crude  and  inlmature 
production.  We  will  not  deny  that  the  volume 
before  us  contains  what  may  prove  the  germs  of 
future  excellence.  But  the  voice  that  now  claims 
our  attention  is  to  real  poetry  what  the  first 
wailing  of  a  mewling  infant  is  to  the  impassioned 
utterances  of  a  Demosthenes  or  our  own  Fitz- 
Jenkins." 

The  Quarterly  which  killed  Keats,  and  the 
Edinburgh  reviewer  who  provoked  the  ire  of 
Byron,  hardly  inflicted  greater  torture  upon  their 
victims  than  did  this  article  in  the  Banner  on  the 
sensitive  spirit  of  our  friend  Jack  Goodwin.  Like 
Byron,  his  first  thoughts  were  of  vengeance.  But 
how  ]  He  might  write  a  satire  after  the  style  of 
"  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  which  he 
had  no  doubt  the  Herald  would  gladly  print. 
But  he  had  doubts  as  to  it  having  any  great  effect 
on  the  not  over-sensitive  nature  of  the  editor  of 
the  Banner.  He  had  thoughts  of  interviewing 
him  with  a  big  stick,  but  then  he  reflected  that 
the  editor  owned  another  big  stick — a  stick  which 
might  be  described  as  a  "  knobby  "  big  stick  ;  and 
that,  moreover,  he  stood  six  feet  two  without  his 
boots.  So  that  idea  was  abandoned.  In  his  rage 
Jack  caught  up  the  offending  journal,  with  the 
intention  of  consigning  it  to  the  flames,  when  a 
l>aragraph  caught  his  attention.  He  read  it  over 
twice  with  breathless  interest  A  gleam  of  triumph 
irradiated  his  countenance. 

"  Hurrah !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  My  enemy  is 
delivered  into  my  hands." 

This  was  the  paragraph  which  Jack  read  : — 

"  FoRTHCOMixcr  Visit  of  the  Duke  of  Edin- 
burgh.— In  view  of  the  expected  visit  of  our 
much-beloved  Prince  to  the  Australian  continent, 
the  proprietors  of  the  Ovens  Banner  hereby  offer 
the  sum  of  five  pounds  sterling  to  the  author  of 
the  best  ode  welcoming  his  arrival  The  ode  to  be 
the  property  of  the  proprietors,  and  to  appear  in 
the  Banner  as  soon  as  the  award  is  made  public. 
Each  poem  must  bear  a  motto,  and  be  accompanied 
by  a  sealed  envelope  bearing  the  same  motto,  and 
containing  inside  the  name  and  address  of  the 
writer.  The  competition  wiU  be  open  till  the  15th 
instant." 

''That  will  allow  me  three  days,"  said  Jack. 
"Yes,  I  will  do  it." 

Jack  competed  for  the  prize  offered  by  the 
Banner^  and  was  successful.  The  Banner  thus 
remarked  upon  the  circumstance  : — 

"  We  confess  that  it  is  with  more  than  ordinary 
pleasure  that  we  announce  the  name  of  the  author 
of  the  successful  poem  on  the  visit  of  the  Duke  of 
Edinburgh,  which  appears  in  our  columns  to-day. 
We  are  thus  pleased  because  it  shows  that  the 


young  author  took  in  good  part,  and  has  profited 
by,  the  somewhat  severe  remarks  which,  in  our 
journalistic  capacity,  we  lately  felt  it  our  duty  to 
make  on  one  of  his  productions." 

Jack's  delight  when  he  read  this  notice  was  un- 
bounded. His  friends  could  scarcely  understand 
it.  No  doubt  it  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  write  a 
successful  copy  of  verses,  and  to  be  jiaid  five 
pounds  for  doing  so ;  but  Jack's  triumph  seemed 
to  be  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  occasion.  Ho 
had  formerly  been  rather  a  modest  sort  of  fellow, 
but  now  he  went  chuckling  all  over  the  town  with 
a  copy  of  the  Banner  in  his  hand,  calling  every- 
body's attention  to  the  verses,  and  asking  them  if 
they  did  not  think  them  first-rate.  Most  people 
thought  the  verses  commonplace  enough ;  but 
Jack  laughed,  and  declared  that  they  were  the 
finest  verses  that  had  ever  been  written.  Jack,  as 
I  said  before,  had  hitherto  been  always  extremely 
modest  and  diffident  regarding  his  own  merits,  and 
I^eople  thought  he  was  going  mad. 

In  the  afternoon  Jack  went  into  the  Herald 
office.     His  friend,  the  editor,  was  at  home. 

"  Have  you  read  my  verses  in  the  Banner  this 
morning  ] "  he  asked. 

"  Yes — sad  nonsense,  I'm  sorry  to  say  ;  but  I 
was  glad  to  hear  you  got  the  money." 

"  Hang  the  money !  You  say  the  verses  are 
nonsense.  Do  you  know  they  are  beyond  all 
comparison  the  finest  verses  I  ever  wrote  \ " 

"I  must  beg  leave  to  differ  from  you  there." 

"Look  here,  old  fellow — I  don't  believe  you  saw 
half  the  beauty  of  the  verses.  Allow  me  to  read 
them  to  you." 

The  editor  rose  with  an  alarmed  look. 

"I  have  a  most  particular  engagement,"  he 
began. 

But  Jack  pushed  him  back  into  his  chair,  and 
taking  a  copy  of  the  Banner  from  his  pocket,  read 
as  foUows  : — 

"  The  golden  chambers  of  the  East  throw  ope  their 

portals  wide ; 
Her  outstretched  hand  Australia  gives  to  him, 

Britannia's  pride. 
Eager  the  people  crowd  around,  their  loyalty  to 

evince — 
Earnest  and  true,  and  full  of  love  for  their  young 

Sailor  Prince. 
Delighted  crowds  shall  gather  to  the  sound  of  fife 

and  drum, 
In  ecstasy  rejoicing  to  know  that  he  is  come. 
The  fairest  of  our  maidens  round  his  brows  will 

garlands  twine — 
Oh,  happy  she  on  whom  the  light  of  his  fond  glance 

shall  shine. 
Right  royally  we'll  welcome  him — e'en  the  black 

vault  of  night 
On  his  arrival  will  blaze  forth  with  artificial  light. 


JACK   GOODWIN'S  JOKE. 


87 


From  north  and  east,  from  south  and  west,  admir- 
ing crowds  will  swarm — 
The  reception  that  we  give  him  will  not  be  cool, 

but  warm. 
High  in  the  air  shall  rockets  fly,  and  big  guns  will 

be  fired. 
Enabling  him  at  once  to  see  how  much  he  is 

admired. 
On  lovely  plains  the  shepherd  hut  will  wake  with 

voice  of  song. 
Vivid  and  loud  the  squatter's  lodge  will  the  glad 

strains  prolong. 
E'en  diggers  in  their  creeks  will  shout  with  lusty, 

wild  halloo, 
Nor  mute  shall  be  the  welcome  of  the  frugal 

cockatoo. 
Swagsmen  will  pause  upon  their  way  to  wipe  away 

a  tear. 
By  gladness  gathered  in  their  eye,  to  think  that  he 

is  here. 
A  welcome  such  as  this  to  man,  on  fair  Australia's 

shore. 
Nor  prince  nor  peasant  heard  of,  or  ever  saw 

before. 
Nor  shall  choice  gifts  be  wanting,  our  foes  shall 

never  say, 
Ever,  with  empty  hand,  our  Prince  beloved  we 

sent  away. 
Right  gladly  of  our  gold  we'll  give,  and  he  shall 

taste  our  wine. 
In  sheoak  he  will  revel — that  drink  almost  divine. 
Speeches  shall  not  be  wanting  to  promote  his 

happiness. 
And  every  corporation  will  present  him  an  ad- 
dress. 
Now,  muse,  thy  task  is  ended  :  for  a  while,  at 

least,  thy  lute, 
Anticipating  matters,  shall  slumber  and  be  mute  ; 
Soon,  soon  again  to  waken,  when  to  meet  him  we 

all  muster, 
Slumber,  then,  lyre,  till  then — but  then  be  ready 

with  a  buster." 

The  editor  of  the  Herald  yawned. 
"  Not  up  to  your  usual  standard,  Jack,"  he  said. 
"And  you  see  nothing  in  the  lines  to  admire." 
"Can't  say  I  do." 


"Why,  don't  you  see  they  are  written  in  the 
form  of  an  acrostic  ?  " 

"Eh?  let  me  see,"  said  the  editor,  taking  the 
paper  from  Jack's  hand.  "'T  H  E,  the.  The 
editor — the  editor  of  the  Ovens  Banner  is  an  ass.' 
Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you've  actually  made 
the  fellow  write  himself  down  an  ass  in  his  own 
paper  % " 

"But  I  do  so,"  said  Jack,  laughing,  "Isn't  it 
capital '{    Ha  !  ha  !  ha ! " 

"  Capital  1  Why,  it's  one  of  the  best  things  I  ever 
heard  of — ha  !  ha !  ha !  " 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  "  laughed  Jack. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  "  laughed  the  editor. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  they  both  laughed 
in  chorus. 

"  And  does  the  Banner  fellow  know  of  this  1 " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Jack ;  "  but  I  look  to  you  to 
enlighten  him  in  to-morrow's  paper." 

The  editor  of  the  Herald  folded  Jack  in  his 
arms,  and  silently  pressed  his  hand.  His  emotion 
was  too  deep  for  words. 

The  following  morning  the  Herald  contained 
a  copy  of  Jack's  verses,  with  this  note  appended 
to  it — 

"  It  is  seldom  indeed  that  we  find  anything  in 
the  columns  of  our  contemporary  worth  the  trouble 
of  a  re-perusal ;  but  the  accompanying  clever 
acrostic,  in  which  the  editor  of  the  Banner  so 
ingenuously  admits  himself  to  be  an  ass,  is  such 
a  remarkable  and  unprecedented  instance  of 
candour,  that  we  gladly  give  it  the  benefit  of  our 
circulation." 

Before  the  morning  was  over,  the  joke  was  all 
over  the  town,  and  caused  great  amusement.  But 
it  promised  to  be  rather  serious  for  Jack.  A  big 
man  with  a  big  stick — a  knobby  stick — was  said  to 
be  anxiously  inquiring  for  him.  However,  Jack 
kept  out  of  the  way ;  and  the  editor  of  the  Banner, 
being  a  good-natured  fellow,  soon  forgot  his 
annoyance  ;  and  on  hearing  that  Jack  had  sent  the 
five  pounds  he  had  got  for  the  poem  to  the 
hospital,  he  declared  that  Jack  was  a  good  fellow, 
and  that  the  joke  was  not  half  a  bad  one,  though 
it  was  against  himself. 


88 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


THE     GEAVE     OF    MACLEOD    OF    DARE. 

[By  WiLMAM  Black.] 


'*  ^i^^^^^i  O  you  know  what  Hamish  says '?"  he 
^nlnK^A^  cried, — "  that  the  night  is  quite  line  ! 
And  Hamish  has  heard  our  talking 
of  seeing  the  cathedral  at  lona  by 
moonlight ;  and  he  says  the  moon 
will  be  nyt  by  ten.  And  what  do  you  say  to 
running  over  now]  You  know  we  cannot  take 
you  in  the  yacht,  for  there  is  no  good  anchorage  at 
lona ;  but  we  can  take  you  in  a  very  good  and 
safe  boat ;  and  it  will  be  an  adventure  to  go  out  in 
the  night  time." 

It  was  an  adventure  that  neither  ^Ir.  White  nor 
his  daughter  seemed  too  eager  to  undertake  ;  but 
the  urgent  vehemence  of  the  young  man — who  had 
discovered  that  it  was  a  fine  and  clear  starlit  night 
— soon  overcame  their  doubts ;  and  there  was  a 
general  hurry  of  preparation.  The  desolation  of 
the  day,  he  eagerly  thought,  would  be  forgotten 
in  the  romance  of  this  night  excursion.  And 
surely  she  would  be  channed  by  the  beauty  of  the 
starlit  sky,  and  the  loneliness  of  the  voyage,  and 
their  wandering  over  the  ruins  in  the  solemn 
moonlight  ? 

Thick  boots  and  waterproofs  :  these  were  his 
jjeremptory  instructions.  And  then  he  led  the 
way  down  the  slippery  path ;  and  he  had  a  tight 
hold  of  her  arm  ;  and  if  he  talked  to  her  in  a  low 
voice  so  that  none  should  overhear— it  is  the  way 
of  lovers  under  the  silence  of  the  stars.  They 
reached  the  pier,  and  the  wet  stone  steps  ;  and 
here,  despite  the  stars,  it  was  so  dark  that  perforce 
she  had  to  permit  him  to  lift  her  off  the  lowest 
step  and  place  her  in  security  in  what  seemed  to 
her  a  great  hole  of  some  kind  or  other.  She  /  '.ew, 
however,  that  she  was  in  a  boat;  for  th  r  •  .:s  a 
swaying  hither  and  thither  even  in  this  .'-  <  ■  ed 
corner.  She  saw  other  figures  arrive — I .  si.  be- 
tween her  and  the  sky— and  she  heard  her  father's 
voice  above.  Then  he,  too,  got  into  the  boat ;  the 
two  men  forward  hauled  up  the  huge  lug  sail  ;  and 
presently  there  was  a  rippling  line  of  sparkling 
white  stars  on  each  side  of  the  boat,  burning  for  a 
second  or  two  on  the  surface  of  the  black  water. 

"  I  don't  know  who  is  responsible  for  this  mad- 
ness," Mr.  White  said—and  the  voice  from  inside 
the  great  waterproof  coat  sounded  as  if  it  meant 
to  be  jocular—"  but  really,  Gerty,  to  be  on  the 
open  Atlantic,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  in  an 
oj>en  boat " 

"My  dear  sir,"  Macleod  said,  laughing,  "you 
are  as  safe  as  if  you  were  in  bed.  But  I  am 
responsible  in  the  meantime,  for  I  have  the  tiller. 
Oh,  we  shall  be  over  in  plenty  of  time  to  be  clear 
of  the  banks." 


"  What  did  you  say  ]" 

"  Well,"  Macleod  admitted,  "  there  are  some 
banks,  you  know,  in  the  Sound  of  lona  ;  and  on  a 
dark  night  they  are  a  little  awkward  when  the  tide 
is  low — but  I  ani  not  going  to  frighten  you ' 

"  I  hope  we  shall  have  nothing  much  worse  than 
this,"  said  Mr.  White,  seriously. 

For  indeed  the  sea,  after  the  squally  morning, 
was  running  pretty  high  ;  and  occasionally  a  cloud 
of  spray  came  rattling  over  the  bows,  causing 
Macleod's  guests  to  pull  their  waterproofs  still 
more  tightly  round  their  necks.  But  what 
mattered  the  creaking  of  the  cordage,  and  the 
plunging  of  the  boat,  and  the  rushing  of  the 
seas,  so  long  as  that  beautiful  clear  sky  shone 
overhead  1 

"Gertrude,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you  see 
the  phosphorus-stars  on  the  waves  l  1  never  saw 
them  burn  more  brightly." 

'•  They  are  very  beautiful,"  said  she.  "  Whvn 
do  we  get  to  land,  Keith  V 

"  Oh,  pretty  soon,"  said  he.  "  You  are  not 
anxious  to  get  to  land  ?" 

"  It  is  stormier  than  I  expected." 

"  Oh,  this  is  nothing,"  said  he.  "  I  thought  you 
would  enjoy  it." 

However,  that  summer  night's  sail  was  like  to 
prove  a  tougher  business  than  Keith  Macleod  had 
bargained  for.  They  had  been  out  scarcely  twenty 
minutes  when  jNIiss  White  heard  the  man  at  the 
bow  call  out  something,  which  she  could  not  un- 
derstand, to  Macleod.  She  saw  him  crane  his 
neck  forward,  as  if  looking  ahead ;  and  she  her- 
self, looking  in  that  direction,  could  perceive  that 
from  the  horizon  almost  to  the  zenith  the  stars  had 
become  invisible. 

"  It  may  be  a  little  bit  squally,"  he  said  to  her, 
"  but  we  shall  soon  be  under  the  lee  of  lona.  Per- 
haps you  had  better  hold  on  to  something." 

The  advice  was  not  ill-timed  ;  for  almost  as  he 
spoke  the  first  gust  of  the  squall  struck  the  boat,  and 
there  was  a  sound  as  if  everything  had  been  torn 
asunder  and  sent  overboard.  Then,  as  she  righted 
just  in  time  to  meet  the  crash  of  the  next  wave, 
it  seemed  as  though  the  world  had  grown  perfectly 
black  around  them.  The  terrified  woman  seated 
there  could  no  longer  make  out  Macleod's  figvire  ; 
it  was  impossible  to  speak  amid  this  roar;  it 
almost  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  alone  with 
those  howling  winds  and  heaving  waves— at  night 
on  the  open  sea.  The  wind  rose,  and  the  sea  too  ; 
she  heard  the  men  call  out  and  Macleod  answer  ; 
and  all  the  time  the  boat  was  creaking  and  groan- 
ing as  she  was  flung  high  on  the  mighty  waves, 


THE   GRAVE   OF   MACLEOD   OF   DARE. 


89 


only  to  go  staggering  down  into  the  awful  troughs 
behind. 

"  Oh,  Keith,"  she  cried — and  involuntarily  she 
seized  his  arm — "are  we  in  danger? " 

He  could  not  hear  what  she  said  ;  but  he  un- 
derstood the  mute  appeal.  Quickly  disengaging 
his  arm — for  it  was  the  arm  that  was  working  the 
tiller — he  called  to  her— 

"  We  are  all  right.  If  you  are  afraid,  get  to  the 
bottom  of  the  boat !" 

But  unhappily  she  did  not  hear  this  ;  for  as  he 


"  Where  is  papa  1 "  she  cried. 

"I  am  here— I  am  all  right,  Gerty,"  was  the 
answer— which  came  from  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  into  which  Mr.  White  had  very  prudently 
slipped. 

And  then,  as  they  got  under  the  lee  of  the 
island,  they  found  themselves  in  smoother  w^ater, 
though  from  time  to  time  squalls  came  over  that 
threatened  to  flatten  the  great  lug-sail  right  on  to 
the  waves. 

"  Come  now,  Gertrude,"  said  Macleod,  "  we  shall 


They  entered,  all  dripping  and  unrecognisable." 


called  to  her  a  heavy  sea  struck  the  bows,  sprung 
high  in  the  air,  and  then  fell  over  them  in  a  deluge 
which  nearly  choked  her.  She  understood,  though, 
his  throwing  away  her  hand.  It  was  the  triumph 
of  brute  selfishness  in  the  moment  o"  danger. 
They  were  drowning  ;  and  he  would  not  let  her 
come  near  him  !  And  so  she  shrieked  aloud  for 
her  father. 

Hearing  those  shrieks,  Macleod  called  to  one  of 
the  two  men,  who  came  stumbling  along  in  the 
dark  and  got  hold  of  the  tiller.  There  was  a 
slight  lull  in  the  storm ;  and  he  caught  her  two 
hands  and  held  her. 

"  Gertrude,  what  is  the*  matter  1  You  are  per- 
fectly safe  ;  and  so  is  your  father.  For  Heaven's 
sake  keep  still :  if  you  get  up,  you  will  be  knocked 
overboard ! " 


be  ashore  in  a  few  minutes  ;  and  you  are  nut 
frightened  of  a  squall  1 " 

He  had  his  arm  round  her ;  and  he  held  her 
tight ;  but  she  did  not  answer.  At  last  she  saw 
a  light — a  small,  glimmering  orange  thing  that 
quivered  apparently  a  hundred  miles  off. 

"  See  !  "  he  said.  "  We  are  close  by.  And  it 
may  clear  up  to-night  after  all." 

Then  he  shouted  to  one  of  the  men  : 

"  Sandy,  we  will  not  try  the  quay  the  night :  we 
will  go  into  the  Martyr's  Bay." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir." 

It  was  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards 
that — almost  benumbed  with  fear — she  discovered 
that  the  boat  was  in  smooth  water ;  and  then 
there  was  a  loud  clatter  of  the  sail  coming  down  ; 
and  she  heard  the  two  sailors  calling  to  each  other, 


90 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPLTLAR   AUTHORS. 


and  one  of  them  seemed  to  have  got  overboard. 
There  was  absohitely  nothing  visible — not  even  a 
distant  light;  but  it  was  raining  heavily.  Then 
she  knew  that  Macleod  had  moved  away  from  her ; 
and  she  thought  she  heard  a  splash  in  the  water  ; 
and  then  a  voice  beside  her  said — 

"  Gertrude,  will  you  get  up  1  You  nuist  let  me 
carry  you  ashore." 

And  she  found  herself  in  his  arms,  carried  iis 
lightly  as  though  she  had  been  a  young  lamb  or  a 
fawn  from  the  hills ;  but  she  knew  from  the  slow 
way  of  his  walking  that  he  was  going  through  the 
sea.    Then  he"  set  her  on  the  shore. 

"  Take  my  hand,"  said  he. 

"  But  where  is  papa  ? " 

"  Just  behind  us,"  said  he, "  on  Sandy's  shoulders. 
Sandy  will  bring  him  along.    Come,  darling." 

"  But  where  are  we  going  1 " 

"  There  is  a  little  inn  near  the  Cathedral  And 
perhaps  it  ^N-ill  clear  up  to-night ;  and  we  will  have 
a  fine  sail  back  again  to  Dare." 

She  shuddered.  Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds 
would  she  pass  through  once  more  that  seething 
pit  of  howling  sounds  and  raging  seas. 

He  held  her  arm  iinuly  ;  and  she  stumbled  along 
through  the  darkness,  not  knowing  whether  she 
was  walking  through  seaweed,  or  pools  of  water, 
or  wet  corn.  And  at  last  they  came  to  a  door  ; 
and  the  door  was  opened ;  and  there  was  a  blaze 
of  orange  light ;  and  they  entered — all  dripping 
and  unrecognisable — the  warm,  snug  little  place, 
to  the  astonishment  of  a  handsome  young  lady  who 
proved  to  be  their  hostess. 

"  Dear  me,  Sir  Keith,"  said  she  at  length,  "  is  it 
you  indeed  !  And  you  will  not  be  going  back  to 
Dare  to-night" 

In  fact,  when  Mr.  ^V^lite  arrived,  it  was  soon 
made  evident  that  going  back  to  Dare  that  night 
was  out  of  the  question  ;  for  somehow  or  other 
the  old  gent'eman,  despite  his  waterproofs,  had 
managed  to  get  soaked  through ;  and  he  was 
determined  to  go  to  bed  at  once,  so  as  to  have 
his  clothes  dried.  And  so  the  hospitalities  of  the 
little  inn  w^ere  requisitioned  to  the  utmost ;  and  as 
there  was  no  whisky  to  be  had,  they  had  to  content 
themselves  with  hot  tea  ;  and  then  they  all  retired 
to  rest  for  the  night,  couAdnced  that  the  moonlight 
visitation  of  the  ruins  had  to  be  postponed. 

But  next  day — such  are  the  rapid  changes  in  the 
Highlands ^broke  blue  and  fair  and  shining  ;  and 
Miss  Gertrude  White  was  amazed  to  find  that  the 
awful  Sound  she  had  come  along  on  the  previous 
night  was  now  brilliant  in  the  most  beautiful 
colours — for  the  tide  was  low,  and  the  yellow 
sand-banks  were  shining  through  the  blue  waters 
of  the  sea.  And  would  she  not,  seeing  that  the 
boat  was  lying  down  at  the  quay  now,  sail  round 
the  island,  and  see  the  splendid  sight  of  the 
Atlantic  breaking  on  the  wild  coast  on  the  western 


side  1  She  hesitated ;  and  then,  when  it  was 
suggested  that  she  might  walk  across  the  island, 
she  eagerly  accepted  that  alternative.  They  set 
out,  on  this  hot,  bright,  beautiful  day. 

But  where  he,  eager  to  please  her  and  show  the 
beauties  of  the  Highlands,  saw  lovely  white  sands, 
and  smiling  plains  of  verdure,  and  far  views  of  the 
sunny  sea,  she  only  saw  loneliness,  and  desolation, 
and  a  constant  threatening  of  death  from  the 
fierce  xVtlantic.  Coulil  anything  have  been  more 
beautiful — he  said  to  himself — than  this  mag- 
nificent scene  that  lay  all  around  her  when  they 
reached  a  far  point  on  the  western  shore  1 — in  face 
of  them  the  wildly-rushing  seas,  coming  thundering 
on  to  the  rocks,  and  springing  so  high  into  the  air 
that  the  snow-white  foam  showed  black  against 
the  glare  of  the  sky ;  the  nearer  islands  gleaming 
with  a  touch  of  brown  on  their  sunward  side  ;  the 
Dutchman's  Cap,  with  its  long  brim  and  conical 
centre,  and  Lunga,  also  like  a  cap,  but  with  a 
shorter  brim  and  a  high  peak  in  front,  becoming  a 
trifle  blue ;  then  Coll  and  Tiree  lying  like  a  pale 
stripe  on  the  horizon  ;  while  far  away  in  the  north 
the  mountains  of  Rum  and  Skye  were  faint  and 
spectral  in  the  haze  of  the  sunlight.  Then  the 
wild  coast  around  them  ;  with  its  splendid  masses 
of  granite  ;  and  its  spare  grass  a  brown-green  in 
the  wann  sun  ;  and  its  bays  of  silver  sand  ;  and  its 
sea-birds  whiter  than  the  white  clouds  that  came 
sailing  over  the  blue.  She  recognised  only  the 
awfulness  and  the  loneliness  of  that  wild  shore ; 
with  its  suggestions  of  crashing  storms  in  the 
night-time  and  the  cries  of  drowning  men  dashed 
helplessly  on  the  cruel  rocks.  She  was  very  silent 
all  the  way  back  ;  though  he  told  her  stories  of  the 
fairies  that  used  to  inhabit  those  sandy  and  grassy 
plains. 

And  could  anythiiitg  have  been  more  magical 
than  the  beauty  of  that  evening,  after  the  storm 
had  altogether  died  away  ?  The  red  sunset  sank 
behind  the  dark  olive  green  of  the  hills ;  a  pale, 
clear  twilight  took  its  place,  and  shone  over  those 
mystic  ruins  that  were  the  object  of  many  a  thought 
and  many  a  pilgrimage  in  the  far  past  and  for- 
gotten years  ;  and  then  the  stars  began  to  glimmer 
as  the  distant  shores  and  the  sea  grew  dark  ;  and 
then,  still  later  on,  a  wonderful  radiance  rose 
behind  the  low  hills  of  Mull,  and  across  the  waters 
of  the  Sound  came  a  belt  of  quivering  light  as  the 
white  moon  sailed  slowly  up  into  the  sky.  Would 
they  venture  out  now,  into  the  sileiwe  ]  There 
was  an  odour  of  new-mown  hay  in  the  night  air. 
Far  away  they  could  hear  the  murmuring  of  the 
waves  around  the  rocks.  They  did  not  speak  a 
word  as  they  walked  along  to  those  solemn  ruins 
overlooking  the  sea,  that  were  now  a  mass  of 
mysterious  shadow,  except  where  the  eastern  walls 
and  the  tower  were  touched  by  the  silvery  light 
that  had  just  come  into  the  heavens. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  MACLEOD  OF  DARE. 


91 


And  in  silence  they  entered  the  still  chui'chyard 
too  ;  and  passed  the  graves.  The  buildings  seemed 
to  rise  above  them  in  a  darkened  majesty  ;  before 
them  was  a  portal  through  which  a  glimpse  of  the 
moonlit  sky  was  visible.  Would  they  enter, 
then  1 

"  I  am  almost  afraid,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice 
to  her  companion,  and  the  hand  on  his  arm 
trembled. 

But  no  sooner  had  she  spoken  than  there  was  a 
sudden  sound  in  the  night  that  caused  her  heart 
to  jump.  All  over  them  and  around  them,  as  it 
seemed,  there  was  a  wild  uproar  of  wings  ;  and 
the  clear  sky  above  them  was  darkened  by  a 
cloud  of  objects  wdieeling  this  way  and  that,  until 
at  length  they  swept  by  overhead  as  if  blown  by  a 
whirlwind,  and  crossed  the  clear  moonlight  in  a 
dense  body.  She  had  quickly  clung  to  him  in  her 
fear, 

"  It  is  only  the  jackdaws— there  are  hundreds  of 
them,"  he  said  to  her ;  but  even  his  voice  sounded 
strange  in  this  hollow  building. 

For  they  had  now  entered  by  the  open  door- 
way; and  all  around  them  were  the  tall  and 
crumbling  pillars,  and  the  arched  windows,  and 
ruined  walls,  here  and  there  catching  the  sharp 
light  of  the  moonlight,  here  and  there  showing 
soft  and  grey  with  a  reflected  light,  with  spaces 
of  black  shadow  which  led  to  unknown  recesses. 
And  always  overhead  the  clear  sky  with  its  pale 
stars  ;  and  always,  far  away,  the  melancholy  sound 
of  the  sen. 

"  Do  you  know  where  you  are  standing  now  1 " 
said  he,  almost  sadly.  "  You  are  standing  on  the 
grave  of  Macleod  of  Macleod." 

She  started  aside  with  a  slight  exclamation. 

"  I  do  not  think  they  buiy  any  one  in  here  now," 
said  he  gently.  And  then  he  added,  "Do  you 
know  that  I  have  chosen  the  place  for  my  grave  1 
It  is  away  out  at  one  of  the  Treshnish  islands  ;  it 
is  a  bay  looking  to  the  west ;  there  is  no  one  living 
on  that  island.  It  is  only  a  fancy  of  mine — to  rest 
for  ever  and  ever  with  no  sound  around  you  but 
the  sea  and  the  winds — no  step  coming  near  you, 
and  no  voice  but  the  waves." 

"  Oh,  Keith,  you  should  not  say  such  things : 
you  frighten  me,"  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice. 

Another  voice  broke  in  upon  them,  harsh  and 
pragmatical. 

"Do  you  know.  Sir  Keith,"  said  Mr.  White 
briskly,  "  that  the  moonlight  is  clear  enough  to  let 
you  make  out  this  plan  ]  But  I  can't  get  the 
building  to  correspond.  This  is  the  chancel,  I 
believe  ;  but  where  are  the  cloisters  1" 

"  I  will  show  you,"  Macleod  said  ;  and  he  led  his 
companion  through  the  silent  and  solemn  place, 
lier  father  following.  In  the  darkness  they  passed 
through  an  archway,  and  were  about  to  step  out 
on  to  a  piece  of  grass,  when  suddenly  Miss  White 


uttered  a  wild  scream  of  terror  and  sank  help- 
lessly to  the  ground.  She  had  slipped  from  his 
arm,  but  in  an  instant  he  had  caught  her  again 
and  had  raised  her  on  his  bended  knee,  and  was 
calling  to  her  with  kindly  words. 

"Gertrude,  Gertrude,"  he  said,  "what  is  the 
matter  1     Won't  you  speak  to  me  i " 

And  just  as  she  was  pulling  herself  together  the 
innocent  cause  of  this  commotion  was  discovered. 
It  was  a  black  lamb  that  had  come  up  in  the  most 
friendly  manner,  and  had  rubbed  its  head  against 
her  hand  to  attract  her  notice. 

"  Gertrude,  see — it  is  only  a  lamb  !  It  comes  up 
to  me  every  time  I  visit  the  ruins  ;  look  ! " 

And,  indeed,  she  was  mightily  ashamed  of 
herself ;  and  ]jretended  to  be  vastly  interested 
in  the  ruins ;  and  was  quite  charmed  with  the 
view  of  the  Sound  in  the  moonlight,  with  the  low 
hills  beyond  now  grown  quite  black  ;  but  all  the 
same  she  was  very  silent  as  they  walked  back  to 
the  inn.  And  she  was  pale  and  thoughtful,  too, 
while  they  were  having  their  frugal  supper  of 
bread  and  milk  ;  and  very  soon  pleading  fatigue, 
she  retired.  But  all  the  same,  when  Mr.  White 
went  up-stairs,  some  time  after,  he  had  been  but 
a  short  while  in  his  room  when  he  heard  a  tapping 
at  the  door.  He  said,  "  Come  in,"  and  his  daughter 
entered.  He  was  surprised  by  the  curious  look  of 
her  face — a  sort  of  piteous  look,  as  of  one  ill  at 
ease,  and  yet  ashamed  to  speak. 

"  What  is  it,  child  ? "  said  he. 

She  regarded  him  for  a  second  with  that  piteous 
look  ;  and  then  tears  slowly  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

"  Papa,"  said  she,  in  a  sort  of  half -hysterical 
way,  "  I  want  you  to  take  me  away  from  here.  It 
frightens  me.  I  don't  know  what  it  is.  He  was 
talking  to  me  about  graves " 

And  here  she  burst  out  crying,  and  sobbed 
bitterly. 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  child,"  her  father  said  ;  "  your 
nervous  system  must  have  been  shaken  last  night 
by  that  storm.  I  have  seen  a  strange  look  about 
your  face  all  day.  It  was  certainly  a  mistake 
our  coming  here  ;  you  are  not  fitted  for  this  savage 
life." 

She  grew  more  composed.  She  sat  down  for 
a  few  minutes  ;  and  her  father,  taking  out  a  small 
flask  which  had  been  filled  from  a  bottle  of 
brandy  sent  over  during  the  day  from  Castle 
Dare,  poured  out  a  little  of  the  spirits,  added  some 
water,  and  made  her  drink  the  dose  as  a  sleeping- 
draught. 

"  Ah  well,  you  know,  pappy,"  said  she,  as  she 
rose  to  leave— and  she  bestowed  a  very  pretty 
smile  on  him—"  it  is  all  in  the  way  of  experience, 
isn't  it?  and  an  artist  should  experience  every- 
thing. But  there  is  just  a  little  too  much  about 
graves  and  ghosts  in  these  parts  for  me.  And  J 
suppose  we  shall  go  to-morrow  to  see  some  cave  or 


92 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


other  where  two  or  three  hundred  men,  women, 
and  children  were  murdered  ! " 

"  I  hope  in  going  back  we  shall  not  be  as  near 
our  own  grave  as  we  were  last  night,"  her  father 
observed. 

"And  Keith  Macleod  laughs  at  it,"  she  said, 
"  and  says  it  was  unfortunate  we  got  a  wetting  ! " 


And  so  she  went  to  bed ;  and  the  sea-air 
had  dealt  well  with  her ;  and  she  had  no 
dreams  at  all  of  shipwrecks,  or  of  black 
familiars  in  moonlit  shrines.  Why  should  her 
sleep  be  disturbed  because  that  night  she  had 
put  her  foot  on  the  grave  of  the  chief  of  the 
Macleods  1    * 


NOTHING     TO     WE  AE. 

[By  William  Allan  Butler.] 


C^SJggaJlpiSS  FLORA  M'FLIMSEY,  of  Ma- 
kJv^\  e/y ill  dison  Square, 

Has  made  three  separate  jour- 
neys to  Paris ; 
And  her  father  assures  me,  each 
time  she  was  there. 
That  she  and  her  friend  Mrs.  Harris 
(Not  the  lady  whose  name  is  so  famous  in  history, 
But  plain  Mrs.  H,  without  romance  or  mystery). 
Spent  six  consecutive  weeks,  without  stopping, 
In  one  continuous  round  of  shopping  ; 
Shopping  alone,  and  shopping  together. 
At  all  hours  of  the  day,  and  in  all  sorts  of  weather; 
For  all  manner  of  things  that  a  woman  can  put 
On  the  crown  of  her  head  or  the  sole  of  her  foot, 
Or  w  rap  round  her  shoulders,  or  fit  round  her  waist, 
Or  that  can  be  sewed  on,  or  pinned  on,  or  laced. 
Or  tied  on  with  a  string,  or  stitched  on  with  a  bow. 
In  front  or  behind — above  or  below  : 
For  bonnets,  mantillas,  capes,  collars,  and  shawls, 
Dresses  for  breakfasts,  and  dinners,  and  balls ; 
Dresses  to  sit  in,  and  stand  in,  and  walk  in  ; 
Dresses  to  dance  in,  and  flirt  in,  and  talk  in  ; 
Dresses  in  which  to  do  nothing  at  all ; 
Dresses  for  winter,  spring,  summer,  or  fall ; 
All  of  them  different  in  colour  and  pattern — 
Silk,  muslin,  and  lace,  crape,  velvet,  and  satin  ; 


Brocade  and  broadcloth,  and  other  material, 
Quite  as  expensive,  and  much  more  ethereal ; 
In  short,  for  all  things  that  could  ever  be  thought  of, 
Or  milliner,  modiste,  or  tradesman  be'  bought  of. 

From  ten-thousand-francs  robes  to  twenty-sous 
frills  ; 
In  all  quarters  of  Paris,  and  at  every  store. 
While  M'Flimsey  in  vain  stormed,  scolded,  and 
swore ; 

They  footed  the  streets,  and  he  footed  the  bills. 

The  last  trip,  their  goods  shipped  by  the  steamer 

Arago 
Formed,  M'Flimsey  declares,  the  bulk  of  her  cargo ; 
Not  to  mention  a  quantity  kept  from  the  rest, 
Sufficient  to  fill  the  largest-sized  chest. 
Which  did  not  appear  on  the  ship's  manifest, 
But  for  which  the  ladies  themselves  manifested 
Such  particular  interest,  that  they  invested 
Their  own  proper  persons  in  layers  and  rows 
Of  muslins,  embroideries,  worked  underclothes. 
Gloves,  handkerchiefs,  scarfs,  and  such  trifles  as 

those. 
Then,  wrapped  in  great  shawls,  like  Circassian 

beauties. 
Gave  GOOD-BYE  to  the  ship,  and  go-bye  to  the 

duties. 


NOTHING   TO    WEAR. 


93 


Her  relations  at  home  all  marvell'd,  ho  doubt, 

Miss  Flora  had  grown  so  enormously  stout 
For  an  actual  belle  and  a  possible  bride  ; 

But  the  miracle  ceased  when  she  turned  inside 
out, 
And  the  truth  came  to  light,  and  the  dry  goods 
beside, 

Which,  in  spite  of  collector,  and  custom-house 
sentry,  • 

Had  enter'd  the  port  without  any  entry. 

And  yet,  though  scarce  three  months  had  pass'd 
since  the  day 

This  merchandise  went,  on  twelve  carts,  up  Broad- 
way, 


I  had  jusf  been  selected  as  he  who  should  throw  all 
The  rest  in  the  shade,  by  the  gracious  bestowal 
On  myself,  after  twenty  or  thirty  rejections. 
Of  those  fossil  remains  which  she  called  "her 

affections," 
And  that  rather  decayed  but  well-known  work  of 

art 
Which  Miss  Flora  persisted  in  styling  "her  heart." 
So    we    were    engaged.    Our   troth    had    been 
plighted, 
Not  by  moonbeam  or  starbeam,  by  fountain,  or 
grove, 
But  in  a  front  parlour,  most  brilliantly  lighted. 
Beneath  the  gas  fixtures  we  whispered  our  love, 


"The  end  of  the  nose  was  poetentotisly  tipped  ttp.' 


This  same  ]Miss  M'Flimsey,  of  Madison  Square, 
The  last  time  we  met,  was  in  utter  despair, 
Because  she  had  nothing  whatever  to  wear  ! 
Nothing    to    wear  !    Now,  as    this    is    a   true 
ditty, 
I  do  not  assert — ^this,  you  know,  is  between  us — 
That  she's  in  a  state  of  absolute  nudity. 

Like  Powers'  Greek  Slave,  or  the  Medici  Venus ; 
But  I  do  mean  to  say,  I  have  heard  her  declare, 
When,  at  the  same  moment,  she  had  on  a  dress 
Which  cost  five  hundred  dollars,  and  not  a  cent 

less, 
And  jewellery  worth  ten  times  ippre,  J  should 
guess,  • 

Th^.t  she  had  not  a  thing  in  the  wide  world  to 

wear  ! 
I  should  mention   just  here,  that  out  of  Miss 
Flora's  .  • 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  or  sixty  adorers. 


Without  any  romance,  or  raptures,  or  sighs, 
Without  any  tears  in  Miss  Flora's  blue  eyes  ! 
Or  blushes,  or  transports,  or  sueh  silly  actions  ; 
It  was  one  of  the  quietest  business  transactions. 
With  a  very  small  sprinkling  of  sentiment,  if  any. 
And  a  very  large  diamond  imported  by  Tiffany. 
On  her  virginal  lips  while  I  printed  a  kiss. 
She  exclaim'd,  as  a  sort  of  parenthesis, 
And  by  way  of  putting  me  quite  at  my  ease, 
"  You  know  I'm  to  polka  as  much  as  I  please. 
And  flirt  when    I    like— now    stop,    don't    you 

speak — 
And  you  must  not  come  here  more  than  twice  ip 

the  week. 
Or  talk  to  me  either  at  party  or  ball, 
But  always  be  ready  to  come  when  I  call  ; 
So  don't  prose  to  me  about  duty  and  stuff; 
If  we  don't  break  this  off,  there  will  be  time 

§nough 


94 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


For  that  sort  of  thing  ;  but  the  bargain  must  be 
That,  as  long  as  I  choose,  I  am  perfectly  free  ; 
For  this  is  a  sort  of  engagement,  you  see, 
Which  is  binding  on  you,  but  not  binding  on 
me." 

Well,  having  thus  woo'd  Miss  M'Flimsey  and  gain'd 

her, 
With  the  silks,  crinolines,  and  hoops  that  con- 
tained hei", 
I  had,  as  I  thought,  a  contingent  remainder 
At  least  in  the  property,  and  the  best  right 
To  appear  as  its  escort  by  day  and  by  night : 
And  it  being  the  week  of  the  Stuckups'  grand 

baU— 
Their  cardk  had  been  out  a  fortnight  or  so, 
And  set  all  the  Avenue  on  the  t'ptoe — 
I  considered  it  only  my  duty  to  call, 

And  see  if  Miss  Flora  intended  to  go. 
I  found  her — as  ladies  are  apt  to  be  found, 
When  the  time   intervening    between  the    first 

sound 
Of  the  bell  and  the  visitor's  entry  is  shorter 
Than  usual — I  found  ;  I  won't  say  I  caught  her — 
Intent  on  the  pier-glass,  undoubtedly  meaning 
To  see  if  perhaps  it  didn't  need  cleaning. 
She  turned  as  I   entered— "  Why,    Harry,    you 

sinner, 
I  thought  that  you  went  to   the    Flashers'    to 

dinner  ! " 
"So  I  did,"  I  replied,  "but  the  dinner  is  swallowed. 
And  digested,  I  trust,  for  'tis  now  nine  and 

more  ; 
So  being  relieved  from  that  duty,  I  followed 

Inclination,  which  led  me,  you  see,  to  your  door. 
And  now  will  your  ladyship  so  condescend 
As  just  to  inform  me  if  you  intend 
Your  duty  and  grace  and  presence  to  lend 
(All  which,  when  I  own,   I    hope  no  one  will 

borrow) 
To  the  Stuckups',  whose  party,  you  know,  is  to- 
morrow ? " 
The  fair  Flora  looked  up  with  a  pitiful  air, 
And  answered  quite  promptly,  "  Why,  Harry,  mon 

clier, 
I  should  like  above  all  things  to  go  with  you 

there ; 
But  really  and  truly — I've  nothing  to  wear  ! " 
"  Nothing  to  wear  !    Go  just  as  you  are ; 
Wear  the  dress  you  have  on,  and  you'll  be  by 

far, 
I  engage,  the  most  bright  and  particular  star 
On  the  Stuckup  horizon."    I  stopp'd,  for  her 

eye, 
Notwithstanding  this  delicate  onset  of  flattery, 
Open'd  on  me  at  once  a  most  terrible  battery 

Of  scorn  and  amazement.     She  made  no  reply, 
But  gave  a  slight  turn  to  the  end  of  her  nose 
(That  pure  Grecian  feature),  as  much  as  to  say, 


"  How  absurd  that  any  sane  man  should  suppose 
That  a  lady  would  go  to  a  ball  in  the  clothes. 

No  matter  how  fine,  that  she  wears  every  day  ! " 
So  I  ventured  again — "Wear  your  crimson  bro- 
cade " 
(Second  turn  up  of  nose) — "  That's  too  dark  by  a 

shade." 
"Your  blue  silk "—" That's  too   heavy."    "Your 

pink"—'-  That's  too  light." 
"  Wear  tulle  over  satin  " — "  I  can't  endure  white." 
"  Your    rose-coloured,    then,    the    best    of    the 

batch"— 
"  I  haven't  a  thread  of  point-lace  to  match." 
"  Your  brown  moir^  antique  " — "  Yes,  and  look 

like  a  Quaker." 
"  The  pearl  coloured  " — "  I  would,  but  that  plaguy 

dressmaker 
Has  had  it  a  week."    "Then  that  exquisite  lilac. 
In  which  you  would  melt  the  heart  of  a  Shylock" 
(Here  the  nose  took  again  the  same  elevation) — 
"  I  wouldn't  wear  that  for  the  whole  of  creation." 
"  Why  not  ]    It's  my  fancy,  there's  nothing  could 
strike  it 
As  more  comme  ilfaiit — "  "  Yes,  but,  dear  me  ! 
that  lean 
Sophronia  Stuckup  has  got  one  just  like  it, 
And  I  won't   appear   dressed    like  a    chit  of 
sixteen." 
"  Then  that  splendid  purple,  that  sweet  Mazarine  ; 
That  superb  point  d'aiguille,  that  imperial  green, 
That  zephyr-like  tarlatan,  that  rich  grenadine  " — 
"  Not  one  of  all  which  is  fit  to  be  seen," 
Said  the  lady,  becoming  excited  and  flushed. 
"  Then  wear,"  I  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  quite 
crush'd 
Opposition,  "  that  gorgeous  toilette  which  you 
sported 
In  Paris  last  spring,  at  the  grand  presentation. 
When  you  quite  turn'd  the  head  of  the  head  of 
the  nation ; 
And  by  all  the  grand  court  were  so  very  much 
courted." 
The  ?nd  of  the  nose  was  portentously  tipped  up 
And  both  the  bright  eyes  shot  forth  indignation. 
As  she  burst  upon  me  with  the  fierce  exclama- 
tion, 
"I  have  worn  it  three  times,  at  the  least  calcula- 
tion. 
And  that  and  the  most  of  my  dresses  are  ripped 

up!" 
Here  I  ripp'd  out  something,  perhaps  rather  rash, 
Quite  innocent  though ;   but  to    use    an    ex- 
pression 
More  striking  than  classic,  it  "  settled  my  hash," 
And  proved  very  soon   the    last  act    of    our 
session. 
"  Fiddlesticks,  is  it,  sir?    I  wonder  the  ceiling 
Doesn't  fall  down  and  crush  you.     Oh,  you  men 
have  no  feeling  ! 


NOTHING  TO   WEAR. 


95 


You  selfish,  unnatural,  illiberal  creatures  ! 
Who  set  yourselves  up  as  patterns  and  preachers. 
Your  silly  pretence — why,  what  a  mere  guess  it  is ! 
Pray,  what  do  you  know  of  a  woman's  necessities  1 
I  have  told  you  and  shown  you  I  have  nothing  to 

wear, 
And  'tis  perfectly  plain  you  not  only  don't  care, 
But  you  do  not  believe  me  "  (here  the  nose  went 

still  higher). 
"  I  suppose  if  you  dared  you  would  call  me  a  liar. 
Our  engagement  is  ended,  sir — yes,  on  the  spot ; 
You're  a  brute,  and  a  monster,  and  I  don't  know 

what." 
I  mildly  suggested  the  words  Hottentot, 
Pickpocket  and  cannibal,  Tartar  and  thief, 
As  gentle  expletives  which  might  give  relief. 
But  this  only  proved  as  spark  to  the  powder. 
And  the  storm  I  had  raised  came    faster   and 

louder  ; 
It  blew  and  it  rain'd,   thunder'd,  lighten'd,   and 

hail'd 
Interjections,  verbs,  pronouns,  till  language  quite 

fail'd 
To  express  the  abusive  ;  and  then  its  arrears 
Were  brought  up  all  at  once  by  a  torrent  of  tears ; 
And  my  last  faint,  despairing  attempt  at  an  obs- 
Ervation  was  lost  in  a  tempest  of  sobs. 
Well,  I  felt  for  the  lady,  and  felt  for  my  hat,  too  ; 
Improvised  on  the  crown  of  the  latter  a  tattoo. 
In  lieu  of  expressing  the  feelings  which  lay 
Quite  too  deep  for  words,  as  Wordsworth  would 

say. 
Then,  without  going  through  the  form  of  a  bow, 
Found  myself  in  the  entry — I  hardly  knew  how— 
On  door-step  and  side  walk,  past  lamp-post  and 

square. 
At  home  and  up-stairs,  in  my  own  easy-chair  ; 

Poked  my  feet  into  slippers,  my  fire  into  blaze, 
And  said  to  myself,  as  I  lit  my  cigar. 
Supposing  a  man  had  the  wealth  of  the  Czar 

Of  the  Russias  to  boot,  for  the  rest  of  his  days, 
On  the  whole,  do  you  think  he  would  have  much 

to  spare 
If  he  married  a  woman  Avith  nothing  to  wear  ? 

fSince  that  night,  taking  pains  that  it  should  not 

be  bruited 
Abroad  in  society,  I've  instituted 
A  course  of  inquiry,  extensive  and  thorough. 
On  this  vital  subject ;  and  find,  to  my  horror. 
That  the  fair  Flora's   case  is   by  no  means  sur- 
prising, 

But  that  there  exists  the  greatest  distress 
In  our  female  community,  solely  arising 

From  this  unsupplied  destitution  of  dress. 
Whose  unfortunate  victims  are  filling  the  air 
With  the  pitiful  wail  of  "  Nothing  to  wear  !  " 
Researches  in  some  of  the  ''  Upper  Ten  "  districts 
Reveal  the  most  painful  and  startling  statistics. 


Of  which  let  me  mention  only  a  few  ; 

In  one  single  house,  on  the  Fifth  Avenue, 

Three  young  ladies  were  found,  all  below  twenty 

two. 
Who  have  been  three  whole  weeks  without  any- 
thing new 
In  the  way  of  flounced  silks  ;  and,  thus  left  in  the 

lurch, 
Are  unable  to  go  to  ball,  concert,  er  church. 
In  another  large  mansion,  nc  £  the  same  place, 
Was  found  a  deplorable,  heart-rending  case 
Of  entire  destitution  of  Brussels  point  lace. 
In  a  neighbouring  block  there  was  found,  in  three 

calls. 
Total  want,  long-continued,  of  camels-'-hair  shawls ; 
And  a  suffering  family,  whose  case  exhibits 
The  most  pressing  need  of  real  ermine  tippets ; 
One  deserving  young  lady  almost  unable 
To  survive  for  the  want  of  a  new  Russian  sable  ; 
Another  confined  to  the  house,  when  it's  windier 
Than  usual,  because  her  shawl  isn't  India. 
Still  another,  whose  tortures    have    been    most 

terrific 
Ever  since  the  sad  loss  of  the  steamer  Pacific  ; 
In  which  were  engulfed,  not  friend  or  relation 
(For  whose  fate  she  perhaps  might  have  found 

consolation, 
Or  borne  it,  at  least,  with  serene  resignation). 
But  the  choicest  assortment  of  French  sleeves  and 

collars 
Ever  sent   out  from   Paris,   worth  thousands   of 

dollars ; 
And  all,  as  to  style,  most  recherche  and  rare. 
The  want  of  which  leaves  her  with  nothing  to  wear. 
And  renders  her  life  so  drear  and  dyspeptic. 
That  she's  (juite  a  recluse,  and  almost  a  sceptic  ; 
For  she  touching^  says  that  this  sort  of  grief 
Cannot  find  in  religion  the  slightest  telief. 
And  philosophy  has  not  a  maxim  to  spare 
For  the  victims  of  such  overwhelming  despair. 
But  the  saddest  by  far  of  all  these  sad  features 
Is  the  cruelty  practised  upon  the  poor  creatures 
By  husbands  and  fathers,   real  Bluebeards  and 

Timons, 
Who  resist  the  most  touching  appeals  made  for 

diamonds 
By  their  wives  and  their  daughters,   and  leave 

them  for  days 
Unsupplied  with  new  jewellery,  fans,  or  bouquets; 
Even  laugh  at  their  miseries  whenever  they  have  a 

chance. 
And  deride  their  demands  as  useless  extravagance. 
One  case  of  a  bride  was  brought  to  my  view, 
Too  sad  for  belisf,  but,  alas  !  'twas  too  true, 
Whose  husband  refused,  as  savage  as  Charon, 
To  permit  hev  to  take  more  than  ten  trunks  to 

Sharon. 
The  consequence  was,  that  when  she  got  there, 
At  the  end  of  three  weeks  she  had  nothing  to  wear ; 


96 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


And  when  she  proposed  to  finish  the  season 
At  Newport,  the  monster  refused  out  and  out, 

For  his  infamous  conduct  alleging  no  reason 
Except  that  the  waters  were  good  for  his  gout. 

Such  treatment  as  this  was  too  shocking,  of  course, 

And  proceedings  are  now  going  on  for  divorce. 

But  why  harrow  the  feelings  by  lifting  the  curtain 

From  these  scenes  of  woe  ?  Enough,  it  is  certain. 

Has  here  been  disclosed  to  stir  up  the  pity 

Of  every  benevolent  heart  in  the  city, 

And  spur  up  humanity  into  a  canter 

To  rush  and  relieve  these  sad  cases  instanter. 

Won't  somebody,  moved 
by  this  touching  de- 
scription. 

Come  forward  to-morrow 
and  head  a  subscrip- 
tion ? 

Won't  some  kind  philan- 
thropist, seeing  that 
aid  is 

So  needed  at  once  by 
these  indigent  ladies, 

Take  charge  of  the 
matter ;  or  won't 
Peter  Cooper 

The  corner-stone  lay  of 
some  splendid  super- 
Structure,      like      that 
which    to-day    links 
his  name 

In  the  Union  unending 
of  honour  and  fame  ; 

And  found  a  new  charity  just  for  the  care 

Of  these  unhappy  women  with  nothing  to  wear  ; 

Which,  in  view  of  the  cash  which  would  daily  be 
claim'd, 

The  Laying-out  Hospital  well  might  be  named ; 

Won't  Stewart,  or  some  of   our   dry-goods  im- 
I)orters, 

Take  a  contract  for  clothing  our  wives  and  our 
daughters  1 

Or,  to  furnish  the  cash  to  supply  those  distresses, 

And  life's  pathway  strew  with  shawls,  collars,  and 
dresses, 

Ere  the  want  of  them  makes  it  much  rougher  and 
thornier. 

Won't  some  one  discover  a  new  California  1 

Oh,  ladies,  dear  ladies  !  the  next  sunny  day 
Please  trundle  your  hoops  just  out  of  Broadway, 
From  its  whirl  and  its  bustle,  its  fashion  and  pride, 
And  the  temples  of  Trade  which  tower  on  each 
side, 


In  mt  own  easy-chair. 


To  the  alleys  and  lanes,   where   Misfortune  and 

Guilt 
Their    children    have   gather'd,  their    city   have 

built ; 
Where  Hunger  and  Vice,  like  twin  beasts  of  prey. 
Have  hunted  their  victims  to  gloom  and  despair ; 
Raise  the  rich,  dainty  dress,  and  the  fine  broider'd 

skirt, 
Pick  your  delicate  way  through  the  dampness  and 
dirt, 
Grope  through  the  dark  dens,  climb  the  rickety 
stair 

To    the    garret,    where 
wretches,  the  young 
and  the  old, 
Half -starved  •  and    half- 
naked,    lie    crouch'd 
from  the  cold. 
See      those       skeleton 
limbs,    those     frost- 
bitten feet. 
All  bleeding  and  bruised 
by  the  stones  of  the 
street ; 
Hear   the  sharp    cry  of 
childhood,  the   deep 
groans  that  swell 
From  the  poor    dying 
creature  who  writhes 
on  the  floor  ; 
Hear    the    curses    that 
soimd  like  the  echoes 
of  hell. 

As  you  sicken  and  shudder,  and  fly  from  the 
door ! 
Then  home  to  your  wardrobes,  and  say — if  you 

dare — 
Spoil'd  children   of  Fashion,  you've  nothing  to 


And  oh,  if  perchance  there  should  be  a  sphere 
Where  all  is  made  right  which  so  puzzles  us  here, 
Where  the  glare  and  the  glitter,  and  tinsel  of 

Time 
Fade  and  die  in  the  light  of  that  region  sublime. 
Where  the  soul,    disenchanted  of  flesh   and    of 

sense, 
Uuscreen'd  by  its  trappings,  and  shows,  and  pre- 
tence. 
Must  be  clothed  for  the  life  and  the  service  abov^i, 
With  purity,  truth,  faith,  meekness,  and  love— 
Oh,  daughters  of  Earth  !  foolish  virgins  !  beware. 
Lest  in  that  upper  realm  you  have  nothing  to. 
wear  ! 


THE   SOAP   AND   WATHER 


97 


THE     SOAP    AND     WATHER.^ 

[From  "  Handy  Andy."    By  Samuel  Lover.] 


HEN  Andy  grew  up  to  be  what  in 
country  parlance  is  called  "  a  brave 
lump  of  a  boy,"  his  mother  thought 
he  was  old  enough  to  do  something 
for  himself ;  so  she  took  him  one 
day  along  with  her  to  the  squire's, 
and  waited  outside  the  door,  loitering  up 
and  down    the    yard    behind  the    house, 
a  crowd  of  beggars  and  great  lazy  dogs, 


"  Troth,  an'  your  honour  that's  just  it— if  your 
honour  would  be  plazed." 

"  What  can  he  do  ? " 

"  Anything,  your  honour." 

"  That  means  nothing,  I  suppose,"  said  the  squire. 

"Oh,  no,  sir.  Everything,  I  mane,  that  you 
would  desire  him  to  do." 

To  every  one  of  these  assurances  on  his  mother's 
part,  Andy  made  a  bow  and  a  scrape. 


that  were  thrusting  their  heads  into  every  iron 
pot  that  stood  outside  the  kitchen  door,  until 
chance  might  give  her  "  a  sight  o'  the  squire  afore 
he  wint  out,  or  afore  he  wint  in  ; "  and  after 
spending  her  entire  day  in  this  idle  way,  at  last 
the  squire  made  his  appearance,  and  Judy  pre- 
sented her  son,  who  kept  scraping  his  foot,  and 
pulling  his  forelock,  that  stuck  out  like  a  piece  of 
ragged  thatch  from  his  forehead,  making  his 
obeisance  to  the  squire,  while  his  mother  was 
sounding  his  praises  for  being  the  "handiest 
craythur  alive — and  so  willin' — nothin'  comes 
wrong  to  him." 

"  I  suppose  the  English  of  all  this  is,  you  want 
me  to  take  him  1  "  said  the  squire. 


"  Can  he  take  care  of  horses  % " 

"  The  best  of  care,  sir,"  said  the  mother  ;  while 
the  miller,  who  Avas  standing  behind  the  squire 
waiting  for  orders,  made  a  grimace  at  Andy,  who 
was  obliged  to  cram  his  face  into  his  hat  to  hide 
the  laugh,  which  he  could  hardly  smother  from 
being  heard,  as  well  as  seen. 

"  Let  him  come,  then,  and  help  in  the  stables, 
and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do." 

"  May  the  Lord—" 

"  That'll  do— there,  now  go." 

"  Oh,  sure,  but  I'll  pray  for  you,  and — " 

"Will  you  go  r' 

"  And  may  the  angels  make  your  honour's  bed 
this  blessed  night,  I  pray." 


*  By  permission  of  Messrs.  George  Eoutle'''ge  and  Sons. 


98 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  If  you  don't  go,  your  son  shan't  come." 

Judy  and  her  hopeful  boy  turned  to  the  right- 
about in  double-quick  time,  and  hurried  down 
the  avenue. 

The  next  day  Andy  was  duly  installed  into  his 
office  of  stable-helper  ;  and,  as  he  was  a  good 
rider,  he  was  soon  made  whipper-in  to  the 
liounds,  for  there  was  a  want  of  such  a  functionary 
in  the  establishment ;  and  Andy's  boldness  in 
this  capacity  soon  made  him  a  favourite  with  the 
squire,  who  was  one  of  those  rollicking  boys  on 
the  pattern  of  the  old  school,  who  scorned  the 
attentions  of  a  regular  valet,  and  let  any  one  tliat 
chance  threw  in  his  way  bring  him  his  boots,  or 
his  hot  water  for  shaving,  or  his  coat,  whenever  it 
iiMs  brushed.  One  morning,  Andy,  who  was  very 
often  the  attendant  on  such  occasions,  came  to 
his  room  with  hot  water.     He  tapped  at  the  door. 

"  Who's  that  ? "  said  the  squire,  who  had  just 
risen,  and  did  not  know  but  it  might  be  one  of 
the  woman  servants. 

"It's  me,  sir." 

"  Oh—  Andy  !    Come  in." 

"  Here's  the  hot  water,  sir,"  said  Andy,  bearing 
an  enormous  tin  can. 

'■  Why,  what  brings  that  enonnous  tin  can  here  1 
You  may  as  well  bring  the  stable  bucket." 

'■  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Andy,  retreating. 
In  two  minutes  more  Andy  came  back,  and, 
tapping  at  the  door,  put  in  his  head  cautiously, 
and  said,  "The  maids  in  the  kitchen,  your  honour, 
says  there's  not  so  much  hot  water  ready." 

"  Did  I  not  see  it  a  moment  since  in  your 
hand  I" 

"Yes, sir;  but  that's  not  nigh  the  full  o'  the 
stable  bucket." 

"■Go  along,  you  stupid  thief  I  and  get  me  some 
hot  water  directly." 

"Will  the  can  do,  sir ? " 

'*  Ay,  anjrthing,  so  you  make  haste." 

Off  posted  Andy,  and  back  he  came  with  the 
can. 

"Where'UIputit,  sir?" 

•'  Throw  this  out,"  said  the  squire,  handing 
Andy  a  jug  containing  some  cold  water,  meaning 
the  jug  to  be  replenished  with  the  hot. 

Andy  took  the  jug,  and  the  window  of  the  room 
being  open,  he  very  deliberately  threw  the  jug  out. 
The  squire  stared  with  wonder,  and  at  last  said — 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ? " 

"  Sure  you  totold  me  to  throw  it  out,  sir." 

"  Go  out  of  this,  you  thick-headed  villain  ! "  said 
•  the  squire,  throwing  his  boots  at  Andy's  head,  along 
with  some  very  neat  curses.     Andy  retreated,  and 
thought  himself  a  verj'  ill-used  person. 

Though  Andy's  regular  business  was  "  whipper- 
in,"  yet  he  was  liable  to  be  called  on  for  the 
performance  of  various  other  duties  :  he  some- 
times attended  at  table  when  the  number  of  guests 


required  that  all  the  subs  should  be  put  in 
requisition,  or  rode  on  some  distant  errand  for  the 
"mistress,"  or  drove  out  the  nurse  and  children 
on  the  jauntijig-car  ;  and  many  were  the  mistakes, 
delays,  or  accidents,  arising  from  Handy  Andy's 
interference  in  such  matters  ; — but  as  they  were 
seldom  serious,  and  generally  laughable,  they 
never  cost  him  the  loss  of  his  jJace,  or  the  squire's 
favour,  who  rather  enjoyed  Andy's  blunders. 

The  first  time  Andy  was  admitted  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  dining-room,  great  was  his 
wonder.  The  butler  took  him  in  to  give  liim 
some  previoiis  instructions,  and  Andy  was  so  lost 
in  admiration  at  the  sight  of  the  assembled  glass 
and  plate,  that  he  stood  with  his  mouth  and  eyes 
wide  open,  and  scarcely  heard  a  word  that  was 
said  to  him.  After  the  head  man  had  been 
dinning  his  instructions  into  him  for  some  time, 
he  said  he  might  go,  until  his  attendance  was 
required.  But  Andy  moved  not ;  he  stood  with 
his  eyes  fixed  by  a  sort  of  fascination  on  some 
object  tliat  seemed  to  rivet  them  with  the  same 
unaccomitable  influence  which  the  rattlesnake 
exercises  over  its  victims. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at  1 "  said  the  butler. 

"  Them  things,  sir,"  said  Andy,  pointing  to  some 
silver  forks. 

"  Is  it  the  forks  1 "  said  the  butler. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  !  I  know  what  forks  is  very  well ; 
but  I  never  seen  them  things  afore." 

"  What  things  do  you  mean  ] " 

"  These  things,  sir,"  said  Andy,  taking  up  one  of 
the  silver  forks,  and  turning  it  round  and  round 
in  his  hand  in  utter  astonishment,  while  the 
butler  grinned  at  liis  ignorance,  and  enjoyed  his 
own  superior  knowledge. 

"Well !"  said  Andy,  after  a  long  jmuse,  "the 
devil  be  from  me  if  ever  I  seen  a  silver  spoon 
split  thft  way  before  !" 

The  butler  gave  a  horse  laugh,  and  made  a 
standing  joke  of  Andy's  split  spoon  ;  but  time  and 
experience  made  Andy  less  impressed  with 
wonder  at  the  show  of  plate  and  glass,  and  the 
split  spoons  became  familiar  as  "  household 
words"  to  him  ;  yet  still  there  were  things  in  the 
duties  of  table  attendance  beyond  Andy's  com- 
prehension—he used  to  hand  cold  plates  for  fish, 
and  hot  plates  for  jelly,  &c.  But  "  one  day,"  he 
was  thrown  off  his  centre  in  a  remarkable  degree 
by  a  bottle  of  soda-water. 

It  was  when  that  combustible  was  firet  intro- 
duced into  Ireland  as  a  dinner  beverage  that  the 
occurrence  took  place,  and  Andy  had  the  luck  to 
be  the  person  to  whom  a  gentleman  applied  for 
some  soda-water. 

"  Sir  1 "  said  Andy. 

"Sodarwater,"  said  the  guest,  in  that  subdued 
tone  in  which  people  are  apt  to  name  their  wants 
at  a  dinner-table. 


THE    SLAVE-SHIP. 


99 


Andy  went  to  the  butler.  "  Mr.  Morgan,  there's 
a  gintleman — " 

"  Let  me  alone,  will  you  1 "  said  Mr.  Morgan. 

Andy  manoeuvred  rovind  him  a  little  longer, 
and  again  essayed  to  be  heard. 

"  Mr.  Morgan  ! " 

"  Don't  you  see  I'm  as  busy  as  I  can  be  1  Can't 
you  do  it  yourself  ?  " 

"  I  dunna  what  he  wants." 

"  Well,  go  and  ax  him,"  said  Mr.  Morgan. 

Andy  went  off  as  he  was  bidden,  and  came 
behind  the  thirsty  gentleman's  chair,  with  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir." 

"  Well  1 "  said  the  gentleman. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir;  but  what's  this  you 
axed  me  for  1 " 

"  Soda-water." 

"What,  sir r' 

"  Soda-water  :  but,  perhaps  you  have  not  any." 

"  Oh,  there's  plenty  in  the  house,  sir  I  Would 
you  like  it  hot,  sir  1 " 

The  gentleman  laughed,  and,  supposing  the  new 
fashion  was  not  understood  in  the  present 
company,  said,  "  Never  mind." 

But  Andy  was  too  anxious  to  please  to  be  so 
satisfied,  and  again  applied  to  Mr.  Morgan. 

"  Sir  ! "  said  he. 

"  Bad  luck  to  you  I — can't  you  let  me  alone  1 " 

"There's  a  gentleman  wants  some  soap  and 
wather." 

"  Some  what  ?  " 

"  Soap  and  wather,  sir." 

"DivU  sweep  you !— Soda-wather  you  mane. 
You'll  get  it  under  the  side-board." 

"  la  it  in  the  can,  sir  t  " 

"  The  curse  o'  Crum'll  on  you !  in  the  bottles." 

"  Is  this  it,  sir  1 ''  said  Andy,  producing  a  bottle 
of  ale. 

"  No,  bad  cess  to  you  ! — the  little  bottles." 

"  Is  it  the  little  bottles  with  no  bottoms,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  wish  f/02i  Avor  in  the  bottom  o'  the  say  ! " 
said  Mr.  Morgan,  who  was  fuming  and  puffing, 
and  rubbing  down  his  face  with  a  napkin,  as  he 


was  hurrying  to  all  quarters  of  the  room,  or,  as 
Andy  said,  in  praising  his  activity,  that  he  was 
like  bad  luck — everywhere. 

"  There  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Morgan  at  last. 

"  Oh,  them  bottles  that  won't  stand,"  said  Andy ; 
"  sure  them's  what  I  said,  with  no  bottoms  to 
them.     How'll  I  open  it  1 — it's  tied  down." 

"  Cut  the  cord,  you  fool  !  " 

Andy  did  as  he  was  desired  ;  and  he  happened 
at  the  time  to  hold  the  bottle  of  soda-water  on  a 
level  with  the  candles  that  shed  light  over  the 
festive  board  from  a  large  silver  branch,  and  the 
moment  he  made  the  incision,  bang  went  the 
bottle  of  soda,  knocking  out  two  of  the  lights  with 
the  projecting  cork,  which,  performing  its  para- 
bola the  length  of  the  room,  struck  the  squire 
himself  in  the  eye  at  the  foot  of  the  table  :  while 
the  hostess  at  the  head  had  a  cold  bath  down 
her  back.  Andy,  when  he  saw  the  soda-water 
jumping  out  of  the  bottle,  held  it  from  him 
at  ann's  length ;  every  fizz  it  made,  exclaiming, 
"  Ow  ! — ow !  "  and,  at  last,  when  the  bottle 
was  empty,  he  roared  out,  "  Oh,  Lord  ! — it's  all 


gone 


1" 


Great  was  the  commotion  ; — few  could  resist 
laughter  except  the  ladies,  who  all  looked  at  their 
gowns,  not  liking  the  mixture  of  satin  and  soda- 
water.  The  extinguished  candles  were  re-Kglited 
— the  squire  got  hLs  eye  open  again — and  the  next 
time  he  perceived  the  butler  sufficiently  near  to 
speak  to  him,  he  said  in  a  low  and  hurried  tone  of 
deep  anger,  while  he  knit  his  brow,  "  Send  that 
fellow  out  of  the  room  ! "  but,  within  the  same 
instant,  resumed  his  former  smile,  that  beamed  on 
all  around  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Andy  was  expelled  the  sa/le  a  manger  in 
disgrace,  and  for  days  kept  out  of  the  master's 
and  mistress'  way  :  in  the  meantime  the  butler 
made  a  good  story  of  the  thing  in  the  servants' 
hall ;  and,  when  he  held  up  Andy's  ignorance  to 
ridicule,  by  telling  how  he  asked  for  "soap  and 
water,"  Andy  was  given  the  name  of  "Suds,"  and 
was  called  by  no  other  for  months  after. 


THE     SLAVE-SHIP. 

[By  J.  G.  Whittier.] 


[he  French  ship  Le  Bddeur, 
with  a  crew  of  twenty -two 
men,  and  with  one  hundred 
and  sixty  negro  slaves,  sailed 
from  Bonny,  in  Africa,  April, 
1819.  On  approaching  the  line, 
a  terrible  malady  broke  out — 
an  obstinate  disease  of  the 
eyes — contagious,  and  alto- 
gether beyond    the    resources    of  medicine.      It 


was  aggravated  by  the  scarcity  of  water  among 
the  slaves  (only  half  a  wineglass  per  day  being 
allowed  to  an  individual),  and  by  the  extreme  im- 
purity of  the  air  in  which  they  breathed.  By  the 
advice  of  the  physician  they  were  brought  upon 
deck  occasionally  ;  but  some  of  the  poor  wretches, 
locking  themselves  in  each  other's  arms,  leaped 
overboard,  in  the  hope,  which  so  universally  pre- 
vails among  them,  of  being  swiftly  transpo.ted  to 
their  own  homes  in  Africa.     To  check  this,  the 


100 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


captain  ordered  several,  who  were  stopped  in  the 
attempt,  to  be  shot,  or  hanged,  before  their  com- 
panions. The  disease  extended  to  the  crew,  and 
one  after  another  were  smitten  with  it,  until  only 
one  remained  unaflfected.  Yet  even  this  dreadful 
condition  did  not  preclude  calculation ;  to  save 
the  expense  of  supporting  slaves  rendered  unsale- 
able, and  to  obtain  grounds  for  a  claim  against  the 
underwriters,  thirty-six  of  the  negroes,  having  be- 
come blind,  were  throivn  into  the  sea  and  drowned  ! 
In  the  midst  of  their  dreadful  fears,  lest  the 


solitJiry  individual  whose  sight  remained  unaffected 
should  also  be  seized  with  the  malady,  a  sail  was 
discovered — it  was  the  Spanish  slaver  Leon ;  the 
same  disease  had  been  there,  and,  horrible  to  tell, 
all  the  crew  had  become  blind  !  Unable  to  assist 
each  other,  the  vessels  parted.  The  Spanish  ship 
has  never  since  been  heard  of  ;  the  Rodeur  reached 
Guadaloupe  on  the  21st  of  June ;  the  only  man 
who  had  escaped  the  disease,  and  had  thus  been 
enabled  to  steer  the  slaver  into  port,  caught  it 
three  days  after  its  arrival. 


"A  SOLITARY  EYE  GAZED  FROM  THE  BURDENED  slaver's  DECK."     (Dra^Kn  by  W.  H.  Overend.) 


"  All  ready  1 "  cried  the  captain  ; 

"  Ay,  ay,"  the  seamen  said  ; 
"  Heave  up  the  worthless  lubbers, — 

The  dying  and  the  dead." 
I^p  from  the  slave-ship's  prison 

Fierce,  bearded  heads  were  thrust ; 
"  Now  let  the  sharks  look  to  it — 

Toss  up  the  dead  ones  first  ! " 

Corpse  after  corpse  came  up, — 

Death  had  been  busy  there ; 
Where  every  blow  is  mercy, 

Why  should  the  Spoiler  spare  ? 
Corpse  after  corpse  they  cast 

Sullenly  from  the  ship. 
Yet  bloody  with  the  traces 

Of  fetter- link  and  whip. 

Gloomily  stood  the  captain 
With  his  arms  upon  his  breast — 

With  his  cold  brow  sternly  knotted, 
And  his  iron  lip  compressed  ; 


"  Are  all  the  dead  dogs  over  1 " 
Growled  through  that  matted  lip  ;- 

"  The  blind  ones  are  no  better, 
Let's  lighten  the  good  ship." 

Hark  !  from  the  ship's  dark  bosom, 

The  very  sounds  of  Hell ! 
The  ringing  clank  of  iron — 

The  maniac's  short,  sharp  yell ! 
The  hoarse,  low  curse,  throat-stifle. 1, 

The  starving  infant's  moan — 
The  horror  of  a  breaking  heart 

Poured  through  a  mother's  groan. 

Up  from  that  loathsome  prison 

The  stricken  blind  ones  came  ; 
Below  had  all  been  darkness — 

Above  was  still  the  same  ; 
Yet  the  holy  breath  of  Heaven 

Was  sweetly  breathing  there, 
And  the  heated  brow  of  fever 

Cooled  in  the  soft  sea  air. 


THE   SLAVE-SHIP. 


roi 


•Overboard  with  them,  shipmates  !  " 

"  Ho  !  for  the  love  of  mercy. 

Cutlass  and  dirk  were  plied  ; 

We're  perishing  and  blind  ! " 

Fettered  and  blind,  one  after  one, 

A  wail  of  utter  agony 

Plunged  down  the  vessel's  side. 

Came  back  upon  the  wind. 

The  sabre  smote  above. 

Beneath,  the  lean  shark  lay. 

"  Help  us  !  for  we  are  stricken 

Waiting,  with  wide  and  bloody  jaw, 

With  blindness,  every  one  ; 

His  quick  and  human  prey. 

Ten  days  we've  floated  fearfully, 

Unnoting  star  or  sun. 

God  of  the  earth  !  what  cries 

Our  ship's  the  slaver  Leon, 

Rang  upward  unto  Thee  ! 

We've  but  a  score  on  board ; 

Voices  of  agony  and  blood 

Our  slaves  are  all  gone  over. 

From  ship-deck  and  from  sea. 

Help,  for  the  love  of  God  ! " 

The  last  dull  plunge  was  heard, 

The  last  wave  caught  its  stain, 

On  livid  brows  of  agony 

And  the  unsated  shark  looked  up 

The  broad  red  lightning  shone, 

For  human  hearts  in  vain. 

But  the  roar  of  wind  and  thunder 

#          *            *          *          * 

Stifled  the  answering  groan  ; 

Red  glowed  the  western  waters  ; 

Wailed  from  the  broken  waters 

The  setting  sun  was  there. 

A  last  despairing  cry. 

Scattering  alike  on  wave  and  cloud 

As,  kindling  in  the  stormy  light, 

His  fiery  mesh  of  hair  : 

The  stranger  ship  went  l)y. 

Amidst  a  group  in  blindness, 

***** 

A  solitary  eye 

In  the  sunny  Guadaloupe 

Gazed  from  the  burdened  slaver's  deck 

A  dark-hull'd  vessel  lay. 

Into  that  burning  sky. 

With  a  crew  who  noted  never 

The  nightfall  or  the  day. 

"  A  storm,"  spoke  out  the  gazer. 

The  blossom  of  the  orange 

"  Is  gathering,  and  at  hand  ; 

Was  white  by  every  stream, 

Curse  on't  !  I  'd  give  my  other  eye 

And  tropic  leaf,  and  flower,  and  bird 

For  one  firm  rood  of  land." 

Were  in  the  warm  sunbeam. 

And  then  he  laughed — but  only 

His  echoed  laugh  replied — 

And  the  sky  was  bright  as  ever, 

For  the  blinded  and  the  suffering 

And  the  moonlight  slept  as  well. 

Alone  were  at  his  side. 

On  the  palm-trees  by  the  hill-side, 

And  the  streamlet  of  the  dell ; 

Night  settled  on  the  waters. 

And  the  glances  of  the  Creole 

And  on  a  stormy  Heaven, 

Were  still  as  archly  deep. 

While  swiftly  on  that  lone  ship's  track 

And  her  smiles  as  full  as  ever 

The  thunder-gust  was  driven. 

Of  passion  and  of  sleep. 

"  A  sail !  thank  God,  a  sail  ! " 

And  as  the  helmsman  spoke, 

But  vain  were  bird  and  blossom, 

Up  through  the  stormy  murmur 

The  green  earth  and  the  sky, 

A  shout  of  gladness  broke. 

And  the  smile  of  human  faces. 

To  the  ever-darkened  eye  ; 

Down  came  the  stranger  vessel. 

For,  amidst  a  world  of  beauty. 

Unheeding,  on  her  way. 

The  slaver  went  abroad, 

So  near,  that  on  the  slaver's  deck 

With  his  ghastly  visage  written 

Fell  off  her  driven  spray. 

By  the  awful  ciu-se  of  God  ! 

10: 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


THE    BACHELOE'S  THEEMOMETEE. 

[Bj  James  Smith.] 


JJTXTATIS  30.  Looked  back  through  a  vista 
y^^cX  ^^  *^'^  years.  Remembered  that  at  twenty  I 
looked  upon  a  man  of  thirty  as  a  middle- 
aged  man  ;  wondered  at  my  error,  and  protracted 
the  middle  age  to  forty.  Said  to  myself,  "  Forty 
is  the  age  of  wisdom."  Reflected  generally  upon 
past  life ;  wished  myself  twenty  again ;  and  ex- 
claimed, "  If  I  were  but  twenty,  what  a  scholar  I 
w^ould  be  by  thirty  I  but  it's  too  late  now\"  Looked 
in  the  glass  ;  still  youthful,  but  getting  rather  fat. 
Young  says,  "  A  fool  at  forty  is  a  fool  indeed  ;  " 
forty,  therefore  must  be  the  age  of  wisdom. 

31.  Read  in  the  Morning  Chronicle  that  a 
wath  maker  in  Paris,  aged  thirty -one,  had  shot 
himself  for  love.  More  fool  the  w^atchmaker  ! 
Agreed  that  nobody  fell  in  love  after  twenty. 
Quoted  Sterne,  "The  expression  fall  in  love, 
evidently  shows  love  to  be  beneath  a  man."  Went 
to  Drury  Lane  :  saw  Miss  Crotch  in  Rosetta,  and 
fell  in  love  with  her.  Received  her  ultimatum ; 
none  but  matrimonians  need  apply.  Was  three 
months  making  up  my  mind  (a  long  time  for 
making  up  such  a  little  parcel),  when  Kitty  Crotch 
eloped  with  Lord  Buskin.  Pretended  to  be  very 
glad.  Took  three  turns  up  and  down  library,  and 
looked  in  glass.  Getting  rather  fat  and  florid. 
Met  a  friend  in  Gray's  Inn,  who  said  I  w-as  evi- 
dently in  rtide  health.  Thought  the  compliment 
ruder  than  the  health. 

32.  Passion  for  dancing  rather  on  the  decline. 
Voted  sitting  out  play  and  farce  one  of  the  im- 
possibilities. Still  in  stage-box  three  nights  per 
week.  Sympathised  with  the  public  in  vexation 
occasioned  by  non-attendance  the  other  three  : 
can't  please  everybody.  Began  to  wonder  at  the 
pleasure  of  kicking  one's  heels  on  a  chalked  floor 
till  four  in  the  morning.  Sold  bay  mare,  who 
reared  at  three  carriages,  and  shook  me  out  of  the 
saddle.  Thought  saddle-making  rather  worse  than 
formerly.  Hair  growing  thin.  Bought  a  bottle  of 
Tricosian  fluid.     Mem. — "a  flattering  unction." 

33.  Hair  thinner.  Serious  thoughts  of  a  wig. 
Met  Colonel  Buckhorse,  who  wears  one.  Devil  in 
a  bush.  Serious  thoughts  of  letting  it  alone.  Met 
a  fellow  Etonian  in  the  Green  Park  who  told  me  I 
wore  well  :  wondered  what  he  could  mean.  Gave 
up  cricket-club,  on  account  of  the  bad  air  about 
Paddington  :  could  not  run  in  it  without  being 
out  of  breath. 

34.  Measured  for  a  new  coat.  Tailor  proposed 
fresh  measure,  hinting  something  about  bulk.  Old 
measure  too  short  :  parchment  shrinks.  Shortened 
my  morning  ride  to  Hampstead  and  Highgate, 
and  wondered  what  people  could  see  at  Hendon. 
Determined  not  to  marry  :  means  expensive,  end 


dubious.  Counted  eighteen  bald  heads  in  the  pit 
at  the  Opera.  So  much  the  better  ;  the  more  the 
merriei-. 

35.  Tried  on  an  old  greatcoat,  and  found  it  an 
old  little  one  ;  cloth  shrinks  as  well  as  parchment. 
Bed  face  in  putting  on  shoes.  Bought  a  shoe- 
horn. Remember  quizzing  my  uncle  George  for 
using  one  :  then  young  and  foolish.  Hunting- 
belts  for  gentlemen  hung  up  in  glover's  windows. 
Longed  to  buy  one,  but  two  women  in  shop 
cheapening  mittens.  Three  grey  hairs  in  left 
eyebrow. 

36.  Several  grey  hairs  in  whiskers  :  all  owing 
to  carelessness  in  manufactory  of  shaving  soap. 
Remember  thinking  my  father  an  old  man  at 
thirty-six.  Settled  the  point  !  Men  grew  old 
sooner  in  former  days.  Laid  the  blame  upon 
flapped  waistcoats  and  tie-wigs.  Skated  on  the 
Serpentine.  Gout.  Very  foolish  exercise,  only 
fit  for  boys.     Gave  skates  to  Charles'  eldest  son. 

37.  Fell  in  love  again.  Rather  pleased  to  find 
myself  not  too  old  for  the  passion.  Emma  only 
nineteen.  What  then  1  Women  require  protectors  ; 
day  settled ;  very  frightened ;  too  late  to  get 
ofl:  Luckily  jilted.  Emma  married  George 
Parker  one  day  before  me.  Again  determined 
never  to  marry.  Turned  off"  old  tailor,  and  took 
to  new  one  in  Bond  Street.  Some  of  those  fellows 
make  a  man  look  ten  years  younger.  Not  that  that 
was  the  reason. 

38.  Stuck  rather  more  to  dinner  parties.  Gave 
up  country-dancing.  Money-musk  certainly  more 
fatiguing  than  formerly.  Fiddlers  play  it  too 
quick.  Quadrilles  stealing  hither  over  the  Channel. 
Thought  of  adding  to  number  of  grave  gentlemen 
who  learn  to  dance.  Dick  Dapper  dubbed  me  one 
of  the  over-growns.  Very  impertinent  and  utterly 
untrue. 

39.  Quadrilles  rising.  Wondered  sober  mis- 
tresses of  families  would  allow  their  carpets  to  be 
beat  after  that  fashion.  Dinner-parties  increasing. 
Found  myself  gradually  Tontineing  it  towards  top 
of  table.  Dreaded  Ultima  Tlmle  of  hostess's  elbow. 
Good  places  for  cutting  turkeys ;  bad  for  cutting- 
jokes.  Wondered  why  I  was  always  desired  to  walk 
up.  Met  two  school-fellows  at  Pimlico;  both  fat 
and  red-faced.  LTsed  to  say  at  school  that  they 
were  both  of  my  age  ;  what  lies  boys  tell ! 

40.  Look  back  ten  years.  Remember  at  thirty 
thinking  forty  a  itiiddle-aged  man.  Must  have 
meant  fifty.  Fifty  certainly  the  age  of  wisdom. 
Determined  to  be  wise  in  ten  years.  W^ished  to 
learn  music  and  Italian.  Tried  Logier.  'Tw^ould 
not  d(\  No  defect  of  capacity,  but  those  things 
should  be  learned  in  childhood. 


BKIAKY   VILLAS. 


103 


41.  New  furnished  chambers.  Looked  in  new 
^lass :  one  chin  too  much.  Looked  in  other  new 
^lass  ;  chin  still  double.  Art  of  ghiss-making  on 
the  decline.  Sold  my  horse,  and  wondered  people 
could  find  any  pleasure  in  being  bumped.  What 
were  legs  made  for  1 

42.  Gout  again  :  that  disease  certainly  attacks 
young  people  more  than  formerly.  Caught  myself 
at  a  rubber  of  whist,  and  blushed.  Tried  my 
hand  at  original  composition,  and  found  a  hanker- 
ing after  epigram  and  satire.  Wondered  I  could 
ever  write  love-sonnets.  Imitated  Horace's  ode 
"  Ne  sit  ancilla."  Did  not  mean  anything  serious, 
though  Susan  certainly  civil  and  attentive. 

43.  Bought  a  hunting-belt.  Braced  myself  up 
till  ready  to  burst.  Intestines  not  to  be  trifled 
with  :  threw  it  aside.  Young  men  now-a-days 
much  too  small  in  the  waist.  Read  in  Mo7'ning 
Post  an  advertisement  "Pills  to  prevent  Cor- 
pulency :  "  bought  a  box.  Never  the  slimmer, 
though  much  the  sicker. 

44.  Met  Fanny  Stapleton,  now  Mrs.  Meadows, 
at  Bullock's  Museum.  Twenty-five  years  ago 
wanted  to  marry  her.  What  an  escape  !  Women 
certainly  age  much  sooner  than  men.  Charles' 
eldest  boy  began  to  think  himself  a  man.  Starched 
•cravat  and  a  cane.  What  presumption  !  At  his 
age  I  was  a  child. 

45.  A  few  wrinkles  about  the  eyes,  Gommonly 
called    crow's    feet.       Musit    have    caught  .cold. 


Began  to  talk  politics,  and  shirk  the  drawing- 
room.  Eulogised  Garrick  ;  saw  nothing  in  Kean. 
Talked  of  Lord  North.  Wondered  at  the  licentious- 
ness of  the  modem  press.  Why  can't  people  be 
civil,  like  Junius  and  John  Wilkes,  in  the  good 
old  times  1 

46.  Rather  on  the  decline,  but  still  handsome, 
and  interesting.  Growing  dislike  to  the  comi)any 
of  young  men  :  all  of  them  talk  too  much  or  too 
little.  Began  to  call  chambermaids  at  inns  "  My 
dear."  Listened  to  a  howl  from  Capt.  Querulous 
about  family  expenses,  price  of  bread  and  butcher's 
meat.  Did  not  care  a  jot  if  bread  was  a  shilling 
a  roll,  and  butcher's  meat  fifty  pounds  a  calf. 
Hugged  myself  in  "  single  blessedness." 

47.  Top  of  head  quite  bald.  Pleaded  Lord  Grey 
in  justification.  Shook  it,  on  reflecting  that  I  was 
but  three  years  removed  from  the  "Age  of  Wis- 
dom." Teeth  sound,  but  not  so  white  as  hereto- 
fore. Something  the  matter  with  the  dentifrice. 
Began  to  be  cautious  in  chronology.  Bad  thing 
to  remember  too  far  back.  Had  serious  thoughts 
of  not  remembering  Miss  Farren. 

48.  Quite  settled  not  to  remember  ]\Iiss  Farren. 
Told  Laura  Willis  that  Palmer,  who  died  when 
I  was  nineteen,  certainly  did  not  look  forty- 
eight. 

49.  Resolved  never  to  marry  for  anything  but 
money  or  rank. 

30.  Age  of  wisdom.     Married  my  cook. 


BEIA^KT    TIL  LA 


;'M  number  one :  Vidler  is  number 
two,  Briary  Villas,  Pimliville.  Nice 
houses,  both  of  them,  and  I  wish 
the  builder  was  barred  in  one,  and 
the  house-agent  in  the  other,  for 
s<iy  seven,  fourteen,  or  twenty-one 
years,  as  they  have  it  in  the  lease. 
Lease.  Yes,  by  the  way,  I'll  sell 
tiie  lease  of  number  one  to  anybody.  No,  I  will 
not ;  I'll  give  it,  and  a  ten-pound  note,  to  any  one 
to-morrow  who  will  take  the  place  off  my  hands. 

It  was  Binny's  doing  —  Binny  is  my  wife 
Berenice — she  took,  a  fancy  to  the  little  squatty 
places,  because  she  said  they  were  so  low,  and 
easy  to  escape  from  in  case  of  fire,  which  is  true, 
for  you  could  get  out  of  the  top  bedroom  window 
on  to  the  bay,  and  jump  down  without  hurting 
anything  but  tlie  shrubs. 

Vidler  was   not  there  then,  or  before  I  would 
liave  signed   that  lease  I'd  have  emigrated  any- 
where.    But  Vidler  came  and  took  next  door  at 
the  end  of  a  week,  and  we  became  neighbours. 
Now,  I  am  not  a  violent  man,  and  I  never  make 


use  of  bad  language,  but  I  must  say  something 
when  I  mention  Vidler's  name,  if  it's  only  "boil 
Vidler."  It  eases  my  mind,  and  my  mind  needs 
easing,  for  of  all  the  insults  and  annoyances  that 
man  Ims  heaped  upon  poor  little  Binny  and  myself, 
nothing  approaching  the  total  could  be  imagined. 

We  were  just  settling  down  when  he  arrived, 
and  the  very  first  night  his  servant  came  and 
knocked  at  our  door  with  "  master's  comjjliments, 
and  he  had  left  his  last  house  on  account  of  the 
organs,  and  would  we  leave  off  playing  the 
pyhanner  and  whistle." 

"  Silver  threads  amongst  the  gold,"  set  f<;r  flute 
and  piano  in  E  flat  with  variations  ;  and  we  were 
only  just  practising  it  so  as  to  be  ready  when  we 
had  our  housewarming  the  next  week. 

That  was  a  sample,  for  every  day  there  was 
something  the  nasty  little  fat,  round,  bald-headed 
old  bachelor  or  his  pea-like  sister  who  kept  his 
house  had  to  complain  about. 

One  might  have  borne  tliat  alone,  but  there 
were  the  troubles  of  the  house  as  well,  for  there 
was  always  something  wrong  ;  the  bell -wire  at  the 


11)4 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


gate  broke ;  the  pipe  in  the  scullery  burst ;  the 
ball-cock  in  the  cistern — there,  I  believe  that  ball- 
cock  was  a  kind  of  demoniacal  water-kelpie  of  a 
glutinous  nature! — would  stick,  and  the  waste- 
pipe  was  not  big  enough  to  carry  olf  the  water,  or 
else  was  stopped  up,  and  the  consequence  was 
that  we  had  four  times  over  a  kind  of  fancy  salmon 
ladder  on  the  staircase  with  no  salmon  to  go  up  to 
the  gratification  of  Frank  Bucklaud  or  Henry  Lee, 
only  your  humble  servant  to  put  up  his  umbrella 
afterwards  and  cUmb  up  the  steps  and  set  the  ball- 
cock  free. 

The  last  time  I  did  that  I  was  in  such  a 
rage  that  I  wrung  the  ball-cock  off,  and  then 
had  to  send  for  the  phimber,  for  the  water  came 
faster  than  ever,  and  I  could  not  stop  it  with  a 


"  Come  in — no,  stop  a  moment,  I'll  come,"  said 
Binny,  as  there  was  a  knock  at  the  bedroom  door,, 
and  unclosing  it,  she  found  "  our  Emma "  there, 
our  parlour-and-house-maid.  Cook  always  calls 
her  "  our  Emma,"  to  distinguish  her,  I  sup- 
pose, from  the  next-door  servant,  whose  name  is 
Jane. 

"  Well,  Emma  1 "  said  my  wife. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  mum,  wiU  you  come  down, 
please  1 " 

"  Is  anything  the  matter,  Emma  1 " 

"No,  mum,  there's  nothink  the  matter,  but  I 
made  up  a  good  fire  as  you  told  me,  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  it  will  keep  on  a-roaring  so." 

"  Why,  you've  set  the  chimney  on  fire ! "  L 
shouted,  banging  down  the  brushes. 


"POCEED   IT   DOWN    THE   SMOKING   CHIMNEY." 


cork.  But  the  plumber  did  not  come  till  two  hours 
after  the  water  had  been  turned  off  at  the  main. 

That,  too,  is  only  a  sample  of  the  troubles  we 
Iiad  at  Briary  Villas.  There  was  something  every 
day  as  regidar  as  clockwork,  tiU  at  last  the 
troubles  culminated  one  cold  February  evening, 
when  I  had  returned  from  town  ;  and  that  trouble 
cost  me  fifty  pounds,  and  made  Yidler  my  sworn 
enemy  for  life. 

I  was  just  having  a  comfortable  wash  and 
enjoying  the  smeU  of  the  dinner  being  dished  up 
in  the  kitchen,  while  Binny  was  sitting  by  the 
toilet-table  looking  at  the  purchase  I  had  made. 
All  was  rosy,  when  suddenly  I  sniffed. 

Then  Binny  sniffed. 

Then  we  both  sniffed  together. 

"  ^Vhat  a  smell  of  soot !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Its  that  odious  old  Vidler's  chimney  smoking," 
said  Binny.  "  Oh,  Charley,  do  let's  move ;  they 
are  such  disagreeable  people.  The  old  woman 
actually  made  faces  at  m,e  to-day  as  I  hat  by  the 
window." 


"Well,  sir,  that's  what  cook  sez;  but  I  don't 
think  it  is." 

I  ran  down-stairs  in  my  dressing-gown,  to  find 
that  not  only  was  the  fire  roaring  away,  but  great 
pats  of  burning  soot  were  tumbling  down  the 
chimney,  and  I  knew  that  if  something  were  not 
quickly  done  we  should  be  having  the  fire-engines, 
and  five  pounds  to  pay,  if  the  house  itself  were 
not  burned  to  the  gi'ound. 

But  Vidler  would  be  burned  out  as  well — and  I 
paused  with  a  kind  of  demoniacal  joy  pervading 
my  breast.  But,  by  nature  magnanimous,  1 
drove  away  the  thought,  seized  the  salt-cellars, 
and  emptied  them  on  the  fire,  and  sent  "our 
Emma  "  to  the  kitchen  for  the  salt-box,  which  I 
emptied  on  the  fire  in  turn. 

That  seemed  no  good,  so,  calling  to  the  maids 
to  bring  a  couple  of  pails,  I  had  them  filled  and 
carried  upstairs,  climbed  the  little  ladder,  opened 
the  trap-door,  and  got  on  to  the  roof,  reaching 
down  afterwards  and  lifting  up  a  pail  of  water. 

"  It  will  make  a  horrible  mess,"  I  thought  as  I 


BRIARY   VILLAS. 


105 


looked  at  tlie  smoke  pouring  up  from  the  long, 
narrow  chimney-stack,  which,  like  everything  else 
belonging  to  Briary  Villas,  was  squatty. 

"Yes,  a  horrible  mess,"  I  thought,  "but  'our 
Emma '  must  clean  it  all  up.  Better  a  dirty 
fender,"  I  continued  aloud,  "than  five  pounds  for 
a  fire-engine." 

"  Joy  I "  I  ejaculated ;  "  there  are  no  sparks  now, 
the  salt  is  working  ;  chlorine  gas  evolved  from 
chloride  of  sodium  by  heat  destroys  combustion. 
Behold  the  finishing  stroke." 

As  I  spoke  I  raised  the  pail  of  water,  and  poured 
it  down  the  smoking  chimney,  darted  back  to 
avoid  the  steam  and  suffocating  vapours,  and, 
setting  down  the  empty  pail,  took  a  full  can  from 
Emma,  whose  head  appeared  upon  the  scene. 


Going  to  the  door  then,  I  opened  it  cautiously, 
but  only  to  be  driven  in  and  followed  by  a  hideous 
little  object  in  the  shape  of  Vidler — round,  fierce, 
blackened  with  soot,  drenched  with  water,  and 
foaming  at  the  mouth. 

I  was  not  afraid  of  him,  but  of  the  dirt,  as  he 
chased  me  into  the  dining-room,  where,  keeping 
him  at  bay,  with  the  legs  of  a  chair,  I  had  to 
listen,  while  Binny,  cook  and  "our  Emma" 
huddled  together  in  a  corner. 

"  You  atrocious  scoundrel ! "  he  panted,  from 
the  midst  of  his  strangely  blackened  face,  as  he 
tore  with  sooty  hand  at  his  wet  black  shirt-front 
and  white  kerseymere  waistcoat.  "  You  villain ! 
this  is  one  of  your  cursed  practical  jokes  ;  but  T'il 
have  an  action — I'll  have  an  action." 


Keeping  him  at  bat." 


"No  fire-engines  to-night!"  I  said  with  a 
gleeful  chuckle ;  and  as  a  rumbling  gurgling  noise 
came  up  the  chimney,  I  poured  down  the  second 
pailful  and  descended. 

"Shall  you  want  any  more  water,  sirl"  said 
"our  Emma,"  as  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

"No,  Emma,"  I  replied,  "I  think  not.  How  is 
the  dining-room,  Binny  dear  1 " 

"  It's  left  off  roaring,  dear,"  she  replied  ;  and  on 
going  in,  to  my  surprise  I  found  the  fire  burning 
brightly,  while  the  roaring  noise  had  ceased,  and 
all  was  beautiful  and  clean. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Binny "  I  exclaimed  ;  and 

then  the  roaring  noise  began  again ;  but  not  in  the 
chimney  this  time,  but  at  the  front  door,  which 
somebody  seemed  determined  to  batter  down. 

"  I'll  go,  Emma,"  I  exclaimed,  hastily  :  "  it's 
the  engine ; "  and  I  determined  to  manfully 
drive  back  any  fireman  who  tried  to  force  an 
entrance. 


"  Perhaps,  sir,  as  plaintiff,  you  will  explain  upon 
what  grounds,"  I  said,  blandly. 

"  Grounds,  sir  !  grounds  !  you  smooth-tongued, 
insulting  blackguard !  Why,  sir,  ten  minutes- 
five  minutes  ago,  I  was  standing,  as  is  my  custom, 
reading  my  paper  and  warming  my  back,  when  an 
avalanche — a  cataract — a  dirty  abominable  Fall  of 
Niagara,  sir,  came  rushing  down  my  chimney,  sir, 
deluging  me,  my  Turkey  carpet,  my  hearthrug, 
spoiling  my  fire-irons  and  fender,  and  putting  out 
my  fire.  As  soon  as  I  could  recover  from  my 
astonishment,  sir,  I  thrust  my  head  up  the 
chimney,  sir,  and  roared  out  to  you  to  cease,  when, 
sir,  a  second  avalanche  came  down,  and — and — • 
hang  it  all,  sir,  just  look  at  me !  " 

I  looked,  and  he  certainly  was  a  guy. 

"  Now,  sir,"  he  roared  savagely,  "  what  does  this 
mean  1 " 

"Mean,  sir,"  I  replied— "well,  I'm  afraid  I 
poured  the  water  down  the  wrong  chimney." 


106 


Gi^EANI^GS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


HOME     AGAIN. 

[By  William  Sawyer.] 


^ 


OME  again  !  spared  the  perils  of  yeax-s, 
Spared  of  rough  seas  and  rougher  lands, 
'      And  I  look  in  your  glad  eyes  bright  with 

tears, 
Hear  your  voices  and  grasp  your  hands  ! 


Not  changed  the  least,  not  a  single  face 
Aged  a  day  as  it  seems  to  me  ! 

The  same  dear  smiles,  and  the  same  dear  place- 
All  the  same  as  it  used  to  be  ! 

Ah  I  here  is  the  garden  !  Here  the  glint 
Of  the  limes  in  sunset  green  and  gold. 

And  the  level  lawn  with  the  pattern  in't 
Where  the  grass  has  been  newly  roU'd. 

And  here  come  the  rabbits  lumping  along, 
No  !  that's  never  the  same  white  doe 

With  the  pinky  lops  and  the  munching  mouth  ; 
Yet  'tis  like  her  as  snow  to  snow. 

And  here's  Nep  in  his  old  heraldic  style, 
Erect,  chain-tightening  all  he  can. 

With  Topsy  wagging  that  inch  of  tail, — 
What,  you  know  me  again,  old  man  i 

The  pond  where  the  lilies  float  and  sun 
Their  cups  ;  the  gold  fish  just  the  same. 

Too  plump  to  stir  in  the  cool, — yes,  one 

Shoots,  and  gleams,  and  goes  out  like  flame  ! 


And  still  in  the  meadow,  daisy-whjte. 
Its  whistling  flight  the  arrow  wings,  ' 

And  the  fallen  target's  central  light 
Glitters — a  planet  with  its  rings  ! 

And  yonder's  the  tree  with  the  giant's  face, 
Sharp  nose  and  chin  against  the  blue, 

And  where  the  elm-boughs  interlace 
Our  famous  swing  between  the  two. 

No  change  !  nay,  it  only  seems  last  night 
I  blurted  back  your  fond  good-byes. 

As  I  heard  the  rain  drip  ftom  the  eaves 
And  felt  its*  moisture  in  my  eyes. 

Last  night  that  we  throng'd  the  porch  about 
Each  choking  words  we  could  not  say. 

And  ix)or  little  Jim's  white  face  peep'd  out, 
Dimly  seen  while  I  stole  away. 

Poor  little  Jim  !  in  this  hour  of  glee  0 
His  wee,  white  face  our  hearts  recall. 

And  I  miss  a  hand  and  a  voice,  and  see 
The  little  chair  beside  the  wall. 

So  all  life's  suii^hine  is  fleck'd  and  Jj^'ief, 
So  all  delight  is  touched  with  pain. 

So  tears  of  gladness  and  tears  of  grief 
Welcome  the  wanderer  home  again  ! 


THE     LEADEN    WEIGHT. 


'F  there  had'  not 
been       another 
church  in  Eng- 
land,  we  could 
not  have   been 
prouder  of  ours 
at  Drainton.  It 
was    very    old, 
very  ugly,  very  big,  and  very 
dilapidated.     Damp  ran  riot 
within  its  mouldering  walls, 
so  that  either  the  organ  pipes 
would    not   speak,    or    else, 
when     once     persuaded     to 
utter    sound,     they     would 
never  leave  off  till  the  wind- 
chest  was   empty.      Mildew 
appeared  in  great  foul  patches 
all  over  the  plaster,  spotted 
the  parson's  gown,  speckled 
the  comer  of  prayer-book  and  Bible,  and  com- 


pletely spoiled  the  new  purple  cushions  in  the 
head  hnendraper's  pew.  But  we  were  very  proud 
of  our  church  for  all  that  ^  and  if,  through  its 
being  badly  lit,  ventilated-  -  though  draughty  —and 
cold  as  a  cellar  nine  months  of  the  year,  half  the 
congregation  suffered  from  rheumatism,  why,  what 
then  ]  Diseases  are  antagonistic,  and  the  possession 
of  one  keeps  off  others. 

You  see  it  was  the  biggest  church  in  a  circle  of 
ten  miles'  radius ;  and  even  if  the  great  family 
vault  of  the  Bigglesons  did — what  with  marble 
cushions,  reclining  figures,  slabs,  pediment,  and 
iron  railings — half  fill  the  chancel,  why  the  more 
honour  and  glory  to  the  Bigglesons,  who  were  yet 
wide  awake,  and  came,  two  strong,  for  about  one 
month  every  year,  to  sit  in  the  huge  mildewed 
pew  —  large  enough  to  have  held  twenty,  but 
held  sacred  to  vacuity  for  the  other  eleven 
months. 

If  you  feel  disposed  to  say  anything  spiteful, 
you  need  not ;  for  that  vault  and  that  empty  pew 


i 


THE   LEADEN   WEIGHT. 


107 


were  institutions  our  way,  and  there  was  always 
plenty  of  room  in  Drainton  Church.  And,  besides, 
we  were  very  proud  of  the  Biggles^ns,  about 
whose  wealth  I  could  tell  you  a  great  deal,  only  I 
want  to  get  on  to  something  'else. 

Some  people — not  Drainton  folk,  of  course — 
used  to  say  that  if  you  kicked  one  man  you  kicked 
the  whole  town,  which  was  a  gross  exaggeration  ; 
for  though  many  of  them,  even  of  the  same  name, 
wouldn't  own  it,  the  extent  to  which  relationship 
ran  was  rather  startling — for  they  had  gone  on,  in 
an  exclusive  fashion,  intermarrying  for  hundreds 
of  years,  till  the  Hodgebys,  the  Muggso'ns,  and  the 
Smiths  were  all  cousins  of  some  degree  or  another. 
But,  as  I  said  before,  you  could  not  expect  Thomas 
Hodgeby,  the  great  draper  and  churchwarden,  to 
own  Tipsy  Tom — our  "  Saxon,"  as  he  was  called — 
for  a  cousin,  any  more  than  the  Rev.  Samuel 
Smith,  the  rector,  could  be  supposed  to  know 
ex-officio  Hephzibah  Smith,  the  pew-opener,  and 
treat  her  as  a  relative. 

There  happened  to  be,  once  upon  a  time,  a  great 
deal  of  unpleasantry  in  connection  with  our 
church-^something  more  than  unpleasantry,  for 
it  was  sacrilege.  Things  disappeared  out  of  the 
place  in  a  most  unaccountable  way ;  and  though 
people  winked,  and  nodded,  and  shook  their  heads 
at  one  another,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  know," 
nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  prosecution  followed. 
Prayef-books,  church  services,*  Bibles  —  so  sure 
as  they  possessed  a  good  binding,  and  happened  to 
be  left  in  their  owners'  pew — were  certain  to  be 
gone  before  the  next  Sunday.  In  fact,  a  much- 
"^  prized  volume  belonging  to  the  writer  was  left  by 
him  one  morning  after  service,  but  the  omission 
was  remembered  on  reaching  home  ;  so,  hurrying 
back  he  was  just  in  time  to  reach,  the  church  as 
the  doors  were  being  locked  by  Tom  Hodgeby, 
the  "  Saxon." 

"  You — you've  come  after  your  big  prayer-book," 
he  ejiclaimed.  "  I — I  saw  it  and  brought  it  away  ; 
for  you — you  know  there's  such  big  thieves  about, 
sir,  I  can't  even  keep  a  spade  or  maddick  for 
them."  * 

Shortly  after,  it  was  discovered  by  the  town 
upholsterer,  upon  his  receiving  orders  to  re-cover 
the  cushions  in  the  Bigglesons'  pew,  that  the 
Itorsehair  stuffing  had  been  entirely  removed,  and 
its  place  filled  with  hay.  This  prompted  further 
examinations,  and  outcries  of  a  similar  nature 
were  heard  from  other  pews — Tom  holding  up  his 
hands,  and  declaring  it  to  be  "  the  wust  "  scandal 
he  ever  heard  of. 

A  month  after,  several  hassocks  were  missing, 
which  were  afterwards  found  in  possession  of  the 
various  shoemakers  and  cobblers  of  the  place, 
making  them  excellent  Avorking  seats,  purchased 
from  the  annexer  at  prices  varying  from  a  pint  of 
beer  to  two  pots,  according  to  quality.     Then  not 


a  grave  could  be  dug  for  want  of  tools  :  Tom  going 
tf  jiurchwarden  and  vicar,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
•  tell  of  his  losses— spade  after  spade,  mattock 
after  mattock,  disappearing  in  the  most  mysterious 
way  from  the  bone-house ;  when,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  new  ones  had  to  be  supplied. 

People  winked  and  nodded,  and  shook  their 
heads  agam.  saying  at  4ivers  times  that  it  was  a 
fine  thing  to  have  a  relative  the  vicar's  church- 
warden, even  if  he  would  not  recognise  you  in 
public  ;  and  that  if  the  matter  lay  in  some  hands 
the  thief  would  soon  have  been  punished. 

Audit  really  was  strange  that  Tommy  always 
had  a  spare  spade  or  mattock  that  he  could  sell 
to  a  labouring  friend,  and  that  his  old  wife  should 
have  a  hor'?ehair  mattress  that  was  the  envy  of  all- 
her  neighbours.  People  even  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that  Tommy  was  a  sad  rogue ';  but  then  he 
was  a  servant  of  the  church,  a  fact  which  spread 
such  a  cloak  of  respectability  around  Tommy's 
shoulders,  that  people  who  said  he  was  a  rogue 
always  made  the  assertion  in  a  whisper.  Some 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  communion 
plate  would  go  next.  But  that  was  not  likely,  as 
it  was  always  kept  at  the  churchwarden's  house, 
and  cleaned  up  once  a  month,  with  coarse,  gritty 
whiting  before  it  was  brought  to  the  church,  to  be 
always  taken  carefully  back  directly  after  use. 

The  whispers  and  murmurs,  though,  at  last 
began  to  grow  louder ;  for  one  Bob  Wilkins,  the 
ringer  of  the  tenor  in  the  peal,  who  was  the  only 
man  who  cared  for  the  job  of  climbing  up  to  the 
top  of  the  tower — a  hundred  and  twenty  feet  above 
the  churchyard — to  oil  the  weathercock — a  cock, 
indeed,  which  obstinately  persisted  in  pointing  the 
windy  quarter  with  its  arched  plumaged  tail — 
Bob  Wilkins,  who  had  been  up  one  day,  after 
complaints  had  been  made  about  the  crowing,  or 
rather  groaning,  of  the  said  cock,  camp  down  to 
say  that  some  one  had  stripped  the  whole  of  the 
lead  off  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  that  one  great 
strip  had  also  been  taken  off  the  roof. 

"  Oh!  this  won't  do,"  said  one. 

"  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to,"  said  another. 

And  the  public  of  Drainton  having  now 
thoroughly  taken  the  alarm,  an  extemporised 
meeting  was  held,  with  closed  doors,  at  Bink  the 
barber's,  where  it  was  unanimously  declared  that 
Tommy  Hodgeby,  our  "  Saxon,"  was  the  culprit, 
and  that  he  had  stolen  the  lead,  melted  it  down, 
and  drunk  it — of  course  after  a  chemical  process 
by  which  it  became  beer  and  gin.  His  position 
and  relationship  to  the  great  churchwarden  were 
not  to  act  as  screens;  and  a  deputation  having 
been  formed,  it  was  arranged  that  they  should 
next  morning  wait  upon  the  vicar. 

Some  were  of  opinion  that  they  might  go  at 
once  ;  but  "  Do  nothing  rashly  "  was  taken  to  be  a 
most  valuable  maxim.     So,  after  determining  to 


108 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


meet  at  niue  the  next  day,  inspect  the  damage, 
and  then  go  to  the  vicarage,  the  gentlemen  who 
had  formed  the  meeting  separated. 

It  was  not  more  than  half -past  nine — or  say,  a 
quarter  to  ten — the  next  morning,  when  the  depu- 
tation proceeded  in  a  body  to  the  church,  after 
obtaining  the  wai'den's  keys  ;  when,  after  a  great 
deal  of  puffing,  they  ascended  the  corkscrew  stair- 
case, gazed  upon  the  demolished  tower  top,  which 
was  quite  denuded,  and  then  descended  to  the 
little  door  which  opened  upon  the  roof  of  the 
body  of  the  church,  where  it  was  plain  enough  to 
see  that  three  goodly  strips  had  been  cut,  rolled  up, 
and  taken  away. 

Some  debated,  some  measured  the  extent  of 
the  damage,  and  some  calculated  the  value  of  the 
lead ;  after  which  the  party  walked  to  the  vicarage, 
the  matter  was  talked  over,  and  at  last,  in  com- 
pany with  the  parish  constable,  a  shoemaker,  who 
r»>se  from  a  very  suspicious-looking  hassock,  the 
whole  party  proceeded  to  our  "  Saxon's  "  residence, 
to  be  answered  by  the  information  that  Tommy 
was  not  at  home.  ^ 

"  That  meeting  of  ours  yesterday  frightened 
him,"  said  one  of  the  deputation.  "  He's  gone, 
gentlemen,  and  we  shall  never  see  him  any  more, 
depend  upon  it." 

"  Gently,  my  dear  sir,  gently,"  said  the  vicar. 
"  We  must  not  condemn  the  man  unheard ;  and, 
indeed,  I  sincerely  hope  that  you  are  mistaken." 

The  former  speaker  screwed  up  his  mouth,  and 
.shook  his  head  ;  and  as  there  seemed  to  be  nothing 
more  to  do,  the  matter  was  left  in  the  hands  of  the 
constable.  The  party  separated,  and  the  matter 
remained  as  it  was,  in  spite  of  the  heavy  rain 
which  soaked  through,  and  made  another  great 
patch  upon  the  church  ceiling.  Dozens  of  people 
went  up  the  corkscrew  staircase  to  see  the 
damage ;  and  then,  probably  from  a  sense  of 
humour,  some  wag  or  another  would  hang  back  to 
sound  one  of  the  bells,  while  his  companions  were 
passing  through  the  chamber,  to  their  deafening 
and  to  the  rousing  of  the  indignation  of  church- 
warden Hodgeby,  who,  at  the  seventh  offence, 
.sent  and  insisted  upon  the  tower  door  being  locked, 
and  carried  the  great  key  in  his  coat  pocket  for 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

There  were  no  more  visits  paid  by  the  curious, 
for  the  warden  was  stern,  and  the  other  key  was 
always  carried  by  the  absent  Tommy  ;  and  as 
he  did  not  turn  up  either  on  Saturday,  the  lead 
lay  less  heavy  on  people's  minds,  save  and  ex- 
cepting that  of  the  plumber,  painter,  and  glazier, 
who  set  to  and  prepared  an  estimate  for  the 
repair  of  the  damages,  and  heartily  wished  Tommy 
had  taken  off  another  strip  or  two  while  he  was 
about  it. 

Simday  came,  and  the  bells  were  rung  "  no  how," 
as  people  said  ;    for  Tommy  was  not  there   to 


superintend  them,  and  the  jobbing  gardener,  who 
hoped  to  succeed  to  the  vacancy,  excused  his  first 
attempt  at  bell-ringing  on  the  plea  that  he  didn't 
understand  music.  They  did  not  make  such  a 
very  great  muddle,  only  that  they  would  keep 
ringing  until  the  vicar  had  been  fully  five  minutes 
in  the  desk,  and  had  had  to  send  a  message  twice 
for  them  to  be  stopped. 

Silence,  though,  at  last,  and  the  first  sentence 
was  being  read,  when  as  the  vicar  came  to 
"  wickedness  he  hath  committed,"  there  was  a 
deep  groan,  apparently  proceeding  from  the 
chancel,  followed  in  a  few  moments  by  a  feeble 
cry  as  for  help. 

Heads  were  turned ;  one  whispered  to  another  to 
ask  who  was  ill,  and  then  the  vicar  commenced 
again  ;  but  only  to  be  interrupted  by  another  faint 
cry,  when  people  began  to  leave  their  pews  and 
to  cluster  round  the  railings  of  the  great  vault  in 
the  chancel,  the  slab  at  the  back  of  which  was 
found  to  be  open  ;  and  now,  unmistakably,  a  groan 
rose  from  below. 

"  What  does  this  mean  1 "  exclaimed  the  church- 
warden, in  a  loud  whisper.  "  Mrs.  Smith,  do  you 
know  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  please.  I  only  got  into  the  church 
this  morning,  for  you  had  the  key  with  you  when 
you  went  out  yes'day,  sir ;  and  Tommy,  sir,  he 
carry  the  other  key,  so  that  I  couldn't  dust." 

The  mystery  was  not  impenetrable  ;  for,  after 
a  little  hesitation,  a  couple  of  the  tradesmen 
climbed  the  rails,  through  not  perceiving  that  the 
gate  would  open,  and,  a  light  being  procured  from 
the  vestry,  Tommy  was  found  lying  at  the  bottom 
of  the  vaidt  steps,  with  his  thigh-bone  broken,  and 
a  heavy  roll  of  lead  lying  right  across  him — two 
more  rough  rolls  being  hard  by,  in  one  of  the 
niches  left  vacant  for  the  coffin  of  a  Biggleson  to 
come.  It  was  plain  enough  that  this  had  been 
turned  by  Tommy  into  a  storehouse  for  his 
plunder,  and  in  heaving  down  a  heavy  roll  he  had 
slipped,  to  lie  there  in  helpless  agony  until  found 
as  described. 

The  church  roof  did  not  take  long  repairing,  but 
it  was  otherwise  with  poor  old  Tommy's  leg,  which 
never  supported  him  properly  again  during  the 
five  years  after  that  he  limped  about  the  town — 
Tipsy  Tommy  to  the  day  of  his  death,  though  he 
rarely  now,  for  reasons  allied  to  the  pocket,  ex- 
ceeded the  bounds  of  propriety.  Vicar,  church- 
warden, all,  were  very  lenient  with  him,  on 
account  of  his  punishment  partly,  and  because 
we  were  used  to  do  things  in  a  very  easy-going, 
ponderous  way  in  Drainton.  Tommy  was  even 
allowed  to  remain  "  Saxon,"  performing  his  work 
by  deputy,  and  sharing  the  proceeds  ;  but  at  last 
when  the  big  tenor,  which  Tommy  had  so  often 
tolled  for  others,  tolled  for  him  in  his  turn,  the 
gardener's  hand  was  at  the  rope. 


BROIiEN   HEARTS. 


109 


BEOKEN      HEAETS 

[From  "  Kobin  Gray."    By  Charles  Gibbon.] 


'HE  guidman  of  Cairnieford  was  up 
early  on  the  dark  December  morning 
whicli  succeeded  tlie  night  of  James 
Falcon's  return.  He  was  bound  for 
a  distant  market,  where  he  proposed 
-to  buy  a  lot  of  sheep,  and  expected  to  get  a  bar- 
■eain.     The  guidwife  made  his  breakfast,  fastened 


since  she  had  been  married  ;  and  she  looked  now  9 

sonsy,  good-tempered,  and  happy  wife. 

She  was  about  to  return  to  the  house  when  she 
heard  some  of  the  hens  cackling  proudly  in  the 
little  thicket  of  firs  and  beeches  at  the  back  of  the 
.steading  ;  and  like  a  thrifty  farmer's  wife  she 
started  immediately  in  search  of  the  eggs,  which 


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"He  snatched  the  hands  between  his  own,  and  kissed  them  frenziedly"  (p.  111). 


Ilis  plaid  across  his  shoulders,  and  gave  him 
kindly  counsel  to  be  careful  of  the  road  coming 
"home,  if  it  happened  to  be  dark  before  he 
.started. 

Robin  promised  obedience,  though  he  declared 
,at  the  same  time  he  had  ridden  the  road  "  hunners 
■o'  times  in  a'  kinds  0'  weathers  and  never  met  in 
wi'  onything  waur  nor  himsel'." 

.Jeanie  watched  him  ride  away  in  the  hazy 
morning  light,  and  disappear  at  the  end  of  the  by- 
road. Her  cheeks  had  recovered  some  of  their 
former  bloom,  and  her  form  much  of  its  plumpness 


were  prized  all  the  more  because  of  their  scarcity 
at  this  season. 

She  entered  the  thicket  and  began  her  search 
at  a  pile  of  fir  branches  which  had  been  hewn 
down  for  winter  firewood,  and  the  numerous 
recesses  in  which  presented  favourable-looking 
hiding-places  for  wily  hens  to  deposit  their 
eggs. 

Jeanie  heard  the  crisp  earth  and  the  dead  frosted 
bits  of  branches  which  were  thickly  strewn  about 
crackling  under  the  footsteps  of  somebody  ap- 
proaching.    As  she  passed  round  the  high  pile  of 


110 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


firewood,  bending  low  to  examine  the  nooks,  she 
noticed  a  man  coming  towards  her.  She  thought 
from  the  cursory  glimpse  she  had  obtained  that  he 
was  one  of  the  men  belonging  to  the  place,  and 
continued  her  inspection  unheeding.  i 

She  passed  round  the  pile  of  wood  slowly  to  the 
side  from  which  she  had  observed  the  man,  and 
there  he  stood  before  her. 

Pale,  haggard,  with  touzled  hair,  ruffled  clothes, 
and  a  general  appearance  of  wild  disorder,  the  man 
stood  watching  her. 

She  gazed  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  she  flung 
up  her  hands  with  a  shriek  that  echoed  throughout 
the  thicket  and  sank  moaning  to  the  ground. 

He  lifted  her  up.  She  was  not  unconscious,  and 
she  shuddered  at  his  touch.  He  seemed  sensible 
of  her  repulsion,  and  he  placed  her  on  a  heap  of 
the  fir  branches,  drawing  back  a  pace  to  look  at 
her.  She  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  as  if  to 
hide  him  from  her  sight. 

"  Jeanie,  I  hae  come  back,"  he  said  presently  in 
a  hard  cold  tona 

She  made  no  answer,  but  she  rocked  her  body 
to  and  fro,  sobbing  wildly. 

He  spoke  again  slowly. 

"I  hae  come  back,  Jeanie,  to  find  that  ye 
shudder  at  my  touch — that  ye  canna  bear  to  look 
me  in  the  face.  And  yet  it  was  you  that  no  so 
very  lang  syne  clasped  your  arms  around  my  neck, 
and  told  me  that  I  might  leave  you  without  fear  of 
change,  for  that  you  would  bide  my  coming  faith- 
fully.    Hae  ye  kept  your  word  ]  " 

He  bent  close  to  her,  hissing  the  question  in  her 
ear. 

She  seemed  to  writhe  under  his  reproach,  and 
still  with  her  hands  on  her  eyes  she  swayed  to  and 
fro,  moaning. 

"  They  tauld  me  ye  were  drooned,"  she  cried  in 
anguisL  .  "  They  tauld  me  ye  were  drooned,  and 
oh  my  heart  was  sair  to  think  it.  But  ye  made 
nae  sign  that  ye  were  living,  and  a'  body  spoke  as 
though  there  was  nee  doot — as  though  there  could 
be  nane.  There  wasna  ane  to  whisper  a  breath 
o'  hope,  and  what  could  I  do — what  could  I  do  but 
"believe  when  the  proof  was  so  strong  1  " 

"Ye  could  hae  waited  a  wee  for  confirmation 
o'  the  news.  Oh,  woman,  I  would  hae  waited  a 
hundred  years  before  I  would  hae  cast  you  so 
utterly  from  my  breast  as  to  take  another  in  my 
arms. 

"  And  I  would  hae  waited  for  ever,  had  I  been 
my  lane.  But  they  pressed  me  sair  on  a'  hands. 
I  was  wae,  wae,  and  heart-broken  ;  I  didna  care 
what  cam'  o'  me  ;  but  I  thocht  it  was  a  sin  to  turn 
awa'  frae  the  wark  that  was  set  fornenst  me  ;  and 
I  thocht  that  you,  looking  at  me  frae  the  ither 
world,  would  ken  what  feelings  moved  me,  and 
would  say  I  had  done  weeL  That  was  why  I 
married,  though  my  heart  was  wi'  you." 


The  violence  of  her  distress,  the  sad  sincerity  of" 
her  voice,  exerted  a  powerful  influence  upon  him.. 
He  seemed  to  waken  suddenly  from  a  fever,  in 
which  all  things  had  been  distorted  in  his  mind, 
to  the  consciousness  that  she  had  been  true  to  him 
in  heart — that  she  had  loved  him — that  she  still 
loved  him. 

He  dropped  down  beside  her,  and  threw  nis 
arms  round  her. 

"  Jeanie,  Jeanie  I "  he  cried,  passionately, "  ye  are 
mine  yet,  ye  shall  be  mine  in  spite  o'  a'  the 
marriages  on  earth.  What  power — what  richt 
has  a  minister's  prayer  to  part  our  lives — to  fill 
the  years  that  are  before  us  wi'  lingering  misery  ? 
It  shall  hae  none.  Ye  are  mine,  Jeanie,  my  ain, 
and  nobody  else  has  a  richt  to  claim  you.  Rise  up 
then,  and  come  awa'  from  this  place,  and  in  another 
country  we'll  find  a  home  and  happiness." 

With  a  stifled  cry  of  horror  she  wrenched  her- 
self from  his  arms,  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  Her 
hands  were  withdrawn  from  her  eyes  now,  and  she 
regarded  him  with  wild  alarm,  whilst  her  cheeks 
which  a  moment  before  had  been  pallid  and  cold, 
became  crimson. 

"  Awa',  man,  awa' ! "  she  exclaimed  with  loolv  and 
voice  of  horror ;  "  that's  no  Jeames  Falcon  wha 
has  risen  from  the  dead— for  he  would  hae  pitied 
me  and  tried  to  strengthen  me  for  the  cruel  duty 
I  maun  do.  It's  the  evil  ane  himsel'  in  my  puir 
lad's  body  that's  come  to  tempt  me  to  my  shame." 

He  bowed  his  head  before  her  indignation,  and 
for  the  moment  could  not  meet  her  gaze. 

"  Lord  help  me.  Lord  help  me,"  he  groaned  ;  "  I 
believe  I'm  crazed.  Ye  are  richt,  it  was  a  mad 
thought — a  villainous  thought.  I'll  try  to  put  it 
away  from  me.  I  shall  put  it  away  ;  only  give  me 
a  little  while  to  master  myself.  Last  nicht  I  came 
back,  and  last  nicht  I  learned  you  were  married. 
My  head's  been  in  a  creel  ever  since,  and  I 
scarcely  ken  Avhat  I  do,  or  say,  or  think." 

"  Oh,  why  did  you  no  come  hame  sooner — why 
did  ye  send  nae  word  that  ye  were  livin'  1  " 

"  I  couldna  win  hame,  but  I  sent  a  letter,  and 
that  ye  never  got,  I  suppose." 

"Never,  or  I  wouldna  hae  been  here  the  day." 

He  pressed  his  head  tightly  between  his  hands, 
as  if  by  that  means  to  subdue  its  violent  throb- 
bing, and  so  obtain  a  calmer  view  of  the  position. 

"Ay,  ay,  it's  been  a'  bad  luck  that  has  come 
between  us  and  parted  us  for  ever,"  he  went  on, 
hoarsely  and  hopelessly ;  "  but  I'm  no  the  villain 
you  might  think  me  from  what  I  hae  said.  I 
didna  come  here  thinking  o'  that.  I  came  just  to 
speak  wi'  you  once  again— to  look  at  ye  —  and 
gang  awa'." 

Her  indignation  and  her  fear  of  him  had  (|uite 
disappeared  now.  Above  the  storm  of  different 
emotions  which  was  raging  in  her  breast,  pity  for 
him  rose  strongest  of  all.    She  approached  hinfc 


BROKEN    HEARTS. 


Ill 


'him  slowly,  and  placed  her  hands  on  his  head 
soothingly.  He  snatched  the  hands  between  his 
own,  and  kissed  them  frenziedly. 

"  Dinna  do  that,"  she  sobbed,  trembling  as  with 
intense  cold.  "Ah,  dinna  do  that,  for  it  frichtens 
me,  and  minds  me  o'  what  you  were  saying  enoo. 
I  canna  thole  to  think  o'  that,  because  it  would 
make  the  sorrow  I  hae  to  bear  a'  the  sairer  if  I 
had  to  think  o'  ye  as  ane  that  would  do  a  wrang 
^ct." 

"  No  man  shall  ever  say  I  wranged  him,"  said 
Falcon,  proudly,  and  releasing  her  hands. 

"  I  believe  that.  I'll  never  doubt  it  again,  Ye're 
speaking  like  yoursel'  noo,  and  it  comforts  me  to 
hear  ye.  But,  Jeamie,  we  may  do  wrang  in  thocht 
to  oursel's  and  others,  and  there's  only  ae  way 
that  we  can  ever  hope  to  win  peace  o'  mind  by." 

"  And  that  way  ?  " 

"  Is  to  part  noo,  and  never — never  meet  again  in 
tliis  world." 

Her  hands  were  clasped.  She  gazed  appealingly 
.at  him,  but  he  did  not  raise  his  head  or  speak  for 
a  long  time.  When  he  did  look  up,  his  face  was 
white  and  his  lips  were  quivering. 

"  Ay,  that's  a'  we  can  do  now.  It's  cowardly  to 
sob  and  greet  like  a  ween  when  the  road  lies  before 
me,  dreary  though  it  be." 

"Ye'U  forget  a'  this,  and  I'll  pray  day  and  nicht 
that  Heaven  will  send  ye  happy  days." 

"I'll  no  forget,  but  maybe  I  may  obtain  dis- 
traction in  hard  work  and  new  scenes.  Folk  say 
that  time  cures  a'  ills,  and  I  could  maist  believe 
that,  seeing  that  you  looked  so  content  before  you 
saw  me  "  (bitterly). 

"  Jeamie,  let  me  tell  ye  a'  that's  passed  since  ye 
^aed  awa,"  she  said,  quietly,  although  smarting 
under  the  sting  of  his  reproach  ;  "  and  when  ye 
hae  heard  ye'U  be  better  able  to  judge  how  far  I 
am  to  blame  for  what  pain  ye  are  suffering." 

She  told  him  everything  simply  as  it  occurred, 
and  he  listened  in  moody  silence.  But  when  she 
had  finished  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Thank  you,  Jeanie,"  he  said,  in  a  calmer  tone 
than  he  had  yet  spoken  ;  "  what  you  hae  said 
proves  to  me  that  nae  blame  can  rest  on  you.  I 
would  hae  thought  that  anyway  if  I  had  only  had 
time  to  think  the  matter  fairly  out.  But  there's 
one  to  whose  villain's  work  you  and  I  both  owe 
what  ill  has  happened  us,  and  I'll  bring  him  to  the 
gallows  for't." 

"  Wha  do  ye  mean  1" 

"  Ivan  Carrach,  who  was  skipper  o'  the  Colin." 

And  he  briefly  explained  to  her  how  the  brig 
had  been  burned,  how  he  had  escaped,  and  what 
had  been  the  cause  of  his  long  absence. 

"  I'll  no  trouble  you  again,  .Jeanie,"  he  said  in 
conclusion  ;  "this  is  the  last  time  I'll  ever  look  on 
your  dear  face.  Dinna  shrink  frae  me  or  fear  me 
because  I  call  it  dear.     My  anger  and  my  fi-enzy 


are  by  now,  and  I'm  calm  But  your  face  will  aye 
be  dear  to  me  although  I  may  never  look  on  it 
again.  I'll  never  come  back  here  :  as  soon  as  1 
hae  got  hand  o'  Carrach,  I'll  leave  the  country,  and 
ye  can  think  o'  me  as  though  I  had  been  dead  and 
had  never  come  here  to  disturb  the  peace  o'  your 
hame  wi'  memories  o'  days  that  were  very  pleasant 
to  us." 

His  voice  quivered  as  he  spoke,  and  burning 
tears  started  to  his  eyes.  She  allowed  him  to  clasp 
her  hands  now  without  hesitation,  and  her  half- 
stifled  sobs  declared  how  violently  her  heart 
was  agitated  since  the  moment  of  i)arting  had 
arrived. 

It  was  a  sad  parting,  for  it  was  lightened  by  no 
gleam  of  hope  :  it  was  like  the  parting  which  death 
makes.  They  had  spoken  much,  but  they  had 
thought  and  felt  far  more  than  their  words  indi- 
cated during  the  little  time  they  had  been  together. 
The  bitter  experience  of  a  life  was  concentrated 
in  that  brief  space,  and  the  issue  was  a  noble  one. 
The  suppressed  love  she  had  borne  the  man  had 
been  suddenly  roused  into  new  existence,  and  had 
fought  hard  with  her  sense  of  wifely  duty  and 
gratitude  to  the  absent  husband.  The  contest  had 
closed  in  the  stern  recognition  of  the  true  path 
before  her ;  and  whatever  agony  it  might  cost  her 
she  was  ready  to  tear  from  her  breast  the  love 
that  had  once  been  her  happiness,  but  was  now  a 
sin. 

He  had  passed  through  the  frenzy  of  his  shat- 
tered hopes,  the  storm  of  angry  passions,  and  had 
reached  the  light  wherein  he  saw  how  much  he 
had  wronged  her  by  his  thoughts  of  the  i)ast  night, 
and  how  much  he  owed  her  now.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  dead  love 
loudly  bidding  him  depart  from  her  and  leave  her 
to  what  peace  she  might  obtain  from  the  know- 
ledge that  he  was  never  to  cross  her  path  any 
more. 

Yet  they  lingered  with  a  fatal  fascination  over 
the  love  they  were  burying  in  this  separation. 
Their  hearts  might  ache  and  yearn  ;  but  they 
were  never  again  to  find  voice  for  the  pain  or 
hope,  never  again  to  reach  the  light  of  lovers' 
sympathy. 

"  It  maun  be,  it  maun  be,"  she  cried  at  last ; 
"  a'  that  I  am  sufi"ering  the  noo,  a'  the  weary  pain 
that's  tugging  at  my  heart  in  the  thocht  o'  parting 
wi'  ye  but  tells  me  the  stronger  that  we  maun 
never  meet  on  this  earth  mair.  Oh  I  lo'ed  ye, 
Jeamie,  very  dearly.  I  lo'e  ye  yet— the  Lord 
aboon  forgive  me— but  I  am  Robin  Gray's  wife, 
and  I  maun  be  faithful  to  him  wha's  been  guid 
and  true  to  me.  Help  me,  help  me,  Jeamie,  and 
gang  awa'." 

"God  keep  ye,  Jeanie,"  he  gasped,  with  un- 
utterable misery  and  compassion  choking  hia 
voice.     "  I  see  noo  that  I  haena  the  warst  to  bear. 


112 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


I  wish  ill  my  soul  that  I  had  never  come  hame 
again,  or  that  we  had  never  loved  as  we  hae  done. 
Grod  keep  ye,  and  bless  ye,  and  gie  ye  strength,  for 
we  hae  little  in  oursel's.  But  ye  shall  never  be 
troubled  wi'  the  sicht  o'  me  again,  and  if  I  could  I 
would  bury  my  very  name  in  the  bottomless  pit 
that  ye  might  never  mair  be  startled  even  by  the 
sound  o't.  A'  that  man  can  do  to  help  ye  to  be  a 
true  wife  I'll  do  for  the  sake  o'  the  love  I  bear  ye. 
I  canna  say  ony  mair." 

With  an  uncontrollable  impulse  he  folded  his 
arms  round  her  and  kissed  her  piissionately,  whilst 
scalding  tears  were  on  their  faces. 

"Gae'wa,    gae'wa,"   she   cried,  wildly,  tearing 


herself  from  his  arms  ;  "  and  Heaven  guide  ye  tO' 
happiness,  if  there  be  ony  in  this  warld." 

She  turned  from  him,  blind  with  anguish,  and 
tottered  aAvay  toward  the  house. 

He  stood  dumbly  gazing  after  her ;  and  as  she 
disappeared  round  the  corner  of  a  shed,  without 
having  dared  to  look  back  once,  his  whole  heart 
seemed  to  burst  in  one  great  sob. 

"  God  bless  ye,  Jeanie,"  he  faltered,  and  the 
words  yearningly  followed  her. 

He  gazed  vacantly  for  a  long  time  at  the  j^lace 
where  he  had  caught  the  last  glimpse  of  her  re- 
treating form,  and  then,  with  a  dull,  hopeless  face, 
he  turned  slowly  away. 


NIAGARA     IN     WINTEE. 

[By  OxoBGK  Augustus  Sala.] 


was  just  the  grey  of  the  winter's  day 
when  our  French-Canadian  valet  entered 
my  state-room.  "No  boots  to-day,"  I 
said,  "  I  will  wear  moccasins."  "It  vas 
not  de  boots,"  he  made  answer;  "you 
are  dere."  "Where?"  I  asked,  sleepily  and 
querulously.  "At  Niagara,  sare."  I  sprang  from 
my  cot,  and  made  a  toilette  so  swift  that  the 
circus-rider  who  becomes  in  the  space  of  five 
minutes  a  belted  knight,  a  kilted  Highlander, 
a  buy-a-broom  girl.  General  Washington,  and 
William  in  "Black-eyed  Susan,"  all  the  while 
careering  madly  on  one  bare-backed  steed,  might 
have  envied  my  celerity.  I  was  at  Niagara. 
Where  were  the  Falls  ?  About  a  mile  and  a  half 
distant. 

I  was  enabled  to  secure  a  little  ramshackle  "  one- 
horse  shay  "  of  a  curricle,  with  a  horse  not  much 
bigger  than  an  Exmoor  pony,  and  such  a  very  tall 
and  stout  Irishman  for  a  driver,  that  I  exf>ected 
every  moment,  with  my  superabundant  weight, 
that  the  springs  would  break,  and  the  entire  con- 
cern go  to  irremediable  "pL"  The  Irish  driver 
was  jocular  and  loquacious,  but  appeared  some- 
what disgusted  with  the  world  in  general,  and 
Niagara  in  particidar.  To  every  remark  he  made 
he  added  the  observation  that  it  was  "  a  divil  of  a 
place."  I  asked  if  there  were  any  tourists  here 
just  now.  "Begorra,  there's  nobody,"  he  re- 
plied. I  asked  which  was  the  best  hotel.  "  Be- 
gorra, there's  none,"  he  responded;  "they're  all 
shut  up.  It's  a  divil  of  a  place."  I  was  somewhat 
disconsolate  at  the  receipt  of  this  information,  so 
I  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  we  could  get  some 
breakfast  "  Divil  a  bit  of  breakfast  is  there  for 
love  or  money.  It's  a  divil  of  a  place  ; "  but  he 
added,  with  a  glance  of  that  sly  humour  for  which 
his  countrymen  are  unrivalled,  "  the  Falls  are  in 


illigant  condition,  ami  you  may  see  tlum  all  the 
year  round  for  nothing." 

He  was  driving  me  along  the  brink  of  a  steep 
and  abrupt  precipice  —  a  mere  ledge  of  read 
like  the  commencement  of  the  Cornice  at  Genoa, 
On  the  near  side  arose,  not  mountains,  but  roAvs  of 
naked  larch  and  stunted  pollard.  Beyond  them 
were  the  ice-bound  fields,  with  here  and  there 
clumps  of  the  black  funereal  pine,  standing  like 
mutes  at  the  door  of  one  who  had  died  in  mid- 
winter. The  snow  was  all  around  in  lumps  and 
nuggets  —  in  festoons,  as  though  old  Father 
Christmas  had  hung  his  trees  with  bundle^s  of 
store-candles — in  great  sheets,  deep  and  comiiact, 
with  the  thin  layer  of  last  night's  frosty  glaze  upon 
them.  The  sky  looked  thick  and  soft — a  very 
blanket-covering  of  snow  that  was  to  fall  soon  and 
envelop  us.  The  stark  saplings  came  up  rigid 
and  spiky  through  the  ghastly  mantle,  like  the 
beard  from  the  cheek  of  a  dead  man.  There  was 
an  evil  wind  blowing  about  a  few  leaves,  so 
brown  and  withered  that  they  must  have  belonged 
to  the  autumn  before  last.  The  declivity  of  the 
precipice  looked  horrible,  and  hundreds  of  feet 
down,  so  it  seemed,  rushed  along  a  black,  swollen, 
and  sullen  river. 

The  road  made  a  slight  curve.  "  Begorra,  there 
they  are!"  cried  the  driver,  pointing  with  his 
whip.  I  strained  my  eyes,  looked  down,  and  saw, 
so  close  upon  me  that  I  thought  I  could  have  leaped 
into  their  midst,  but  they  were  at  least  a  mile  dis- 
tant— the  Falls  of  Niagara. 

How  it  was  that  the  ramshackle  shay,  the  little 
horse,  and  the  big  driver  utterly  vanished  from  my 
view  and  remembrance,  I  shall  probably  never  be 
able  to  realise.  1  suppose  I  must  have  got  out  of 
the  chaise  somehow,  and  given  the  man  a  dollar  ; 
but  how  it  all  came  about  I  have  not  the  dimmest 


NIAGARA.   IN   WINTER. 


113 


recollection.  I  found  myself  standing  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  precipice,  straining  with  a  dull  stare  of 
absorption  at  the  two  Falls — the  American  and  the 
Horseshoe — which  were  within  my  view.  I  saw 
over  against  me  the  Niagara  river  running  between 
steep  and  precipitous  banks,  very  much  resembling 
those  of  Clifton  Heights  in  England  ;  and  over 
the  bank  opposite  to  me  there  was  rushing  with 


American  Fall,  with  much  more  foam  at  the 
bottom,  and  casting  up  not  a  cloud,  but  a  column 
of  spray— a  column  like  a  water-spout — like  Lot's 
wife — like  the  Pillar  that  went  before  the  Israelites 
by  day  and  night  —  and  rising  many  scores  of 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  cataract.  This  was  the 
great  Fall,  the  Canadian  Fall,  the  Horseshoe  Fall. 
This  forms  the  half -circle  from  Goat  Island  to  the 


Niagara  in  Winter  :  a  Tree  ceushed  by  Frozen  Sprat. 


almost  mathematical  exactitude  an  enormous 
stream  of  water.  At  the  base  a  great  cloud  of 
foam  and  spray  arose.  This  was  the  American 
Fall.  Then  the  bank  stretched  away,  and  I  could 
see  some  large  and  small  houses,  and  an  island 
thickly  wooded,  at  whose  head  was  a  lighthouse- 
looking  tower,  approached  by  a  causeway.  This 
was  Goat  Island  and  Terrapin  Tower.  Then  the 
lower  bed  of  the  river  became  a  cul  de  sac,  a  blind 
alley,  its  finial  being  curved  in  a  great  wall  of 
rock,  and  over  this  was  precipitated  from  the 
upper  bed  a  much  more  enormous  stream  of 
water,  its  edges  raggeder  than  those  of  the 
o 


Canadian  side  of  the  river.  Three  parts  of  it 
belong  incontestably  to  Great  Britain,  and  it  can 
only  be  seen  to  advantage  from  the  British  side  ; 
but  our  cousins  are  very  angry  that  it  shoidd  be 
called  the  Canadian  Fall,  and  claim  more  than  half 
of  it  as  their  own. 

These  then  were  the  famous  Falls  I  had  come  so 
far  to  see ;— 144  rods  wide,  158  feet  high,  1,500 
millions  of  cubic  feet  of  water  tumbling  over  a 
wall  of  rock  every  minute,  a  column  of  spray  200 
—some  say  300— feet  in  altitude.  Well,  I  confess 
that  as  I  stood  staring,  there  came  over  me  a 
sensation  of  bitter  disappointment.     And  was  this 


114 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


all?  You  who  have  seen  the  field  of  Waterloo,  who 
have  seen  the  Pyramids,  who  have  seen  St.  Peter's, 
bear  with  me.  Was  this  all  1  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  water,  a  great  deal  of  foam,  a  great  deal 
of  spray,  and  a  thundering  noise.  This  was  all, 
abating  the  snow  where  I  stood  and  the  black  river 
beneath.  These  were  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  The^ 
looked  comjxirativeli/  small,  and  tlie  water  looked 
din'jy.  Where  was  the  grand  effect — the  light  and 
shade  1  There  was,  it  is  true,  a  considerable  amount 
of  etFervescence ;  but  the  foaminess  of  the  Falls, 
together  with  the  tinge  of  tawny  yellow  in  the 
troubled  waters,  only  reminded  me  of  so  much 
unattainable  soda  and  sherry,  and  made  me  feel 
thirstier  than  ever. 

I  found  a  wretched  little  place  open,  half  tavern 
and  half  Indian  curiosity  shop,  but  on  the  roof  it 
had  a  belvedere.  I  was  permitted  to  ascend  this, 
and  a  civil  negro  serving  man  volunteered  to  ac- 
company me.  There  was  a  good  view  from  the 
belvedere,  and  I  remained  staring  at  the  Falls  for 
another  half-hour,  the  negro  remaining  silent  by  my 
side.  I  asked  him,  almost  mechanically,  whether 
the  water  was  continually  rushing  over  at  that 
rate.  I  had  spoken  like  a  fool,  and  he  answered 
me  according  to  my  folly.  "  I  'spect,  massa,"  he 
said,  "  they  goes  on  for  ebber  and  ebber."  Re- 
marks as  absurd  and  incongruous  as  mine,  have 
become  historical  among  the  ana  of  Niagara.  A 
Swiss  watchmaker  observed  that  he  was  very  glad 
"de  beautiful  ting  was  going."  He  looked  upon 
it  as  some  kind  of  clockwork  arrangement,  which 
would  run  down  and  be  wound  up  again.  Every- 
body knows  the  story  of  the  'cute  Yankee  who 
called  it  "an  almighty  water  privilege."  It  is 
one,  and  would  turn  all  the  mill-wheels  in  the 
world. 

Being  on  the  American  side,  we  crossed  a  smaller 
suspension  bridge  to  Goat  Island.  We  wandered 
aroimd  its  haK-snowed-up  lanes,  and  then,  so 
slippery  was  the  ice,  crawled  on  our  hands  and 
knees  along  a  stone  causeway  to  Terrapin  Tower, 
and  from  its  summit  looked  upon  the  Falls.  Then 
we  went  to  see  the  Rapids  by  the  Cataract  House, 
which  appeared  to  me  a  mass  of  intolerable  suds, 
and  put  me  in  mind  of  nothing  half  so  much  as  a  | 
gigantic  washing-day.  There  was  no  colour,  no 
light  and  shade  :  nothing  but  water  and  foam,  ] 
water  and  spray,  water'  and  noise.  And  every- 
thing dingy.  We  were  lowered  down  an  inclined 
plane  in  a  species  of  horse-box  on  the  American 
side,  and  there  found  a  ferry-boat  to  convey  us 
across  the  Niagara  river  to  Canada.  From  the 
river  there  was  a  much  better  view  of  both  Falls. 
They  looked  considerably  taller,  but  they  were  still 
dingy.  The  boatman  was  a  most  savage -looking 
person  ;  cursed  us  when  we  paid  him  in  paper 
instead  of  silver,  and  I  thought  when  we  landed 
that  he  would  have  dismissed  us  with  a  clout  of 


his  oar,  as  Charon  does  in  Gustave  Dora's  picture 
of  the  souls  crossing  the  Styx,  in  the  "Inferno." 
Then  we  scrambled  over  stones,  rimy  with  ice,  and 
slipped  down  glassy  declivities,  a  la  Montagne 
Russe,  and  creeping  close  to  the  base  of  the  fall, 
right  under  the  lee  of  Table  Rock,  peeped  at 
the  masses  of  frozen  spray  and  great  blocks  and 
boulders  of  ice  piled  one  atop  of  another — a  cold 
eruption  of  the  Glacial  Period. 

We  thus  wandered  about,  talking  very  little, 
until  early  in  the  afternoon,  when  my  friend  sug- 
gested lunch.  We  had  ascended  to  the  river  bank 
on  the  Canada  side  by  this  time,  and  in  the  high- 
way, close  to  Table  Rock,  found,  to  our  great  joy, 
that  Mr.  Sol  Davis's  well-known  establishment 
was  open.  Mr.  Sol  Davis  sells  Indian  curiosities, 
and  Lowther  Arcade  and  Ramsgate  Bazaar  nick- 
nacks  of  every  description ;  and  a  very  stiff  price 
does  Mr.  Sol  Davis  charge  for  those  objects  of 
vertu.  Mr.  Sol  Davis  likewise  sells  cigars,  and 
stereoscopic  slides  of  the  Falls ;  and  Mr.  Sol 
Davis  has,  to  sum  up  his  wealth  of  accommodation 
for  tourists,  a  bar  in  the  rear  of  his  premises  where 
exciseable  articles  are  retailed.  Mrs.  Sol  Davis 
is  a  very  comely  and  affable  matron,  with  a  sharp 
eye  to  business ;  and  Miss  Sol  Davis  is  very 
beautiful,  but  haughty. 

Mr.  Sol  Davi.s,  junior,  the  fourth  in  this  worthy 
quartette,  is  a  character.  Said  he  to  me,  when 
he  became  better  acquainted  with  me  : 

"  What  might  be  your  business,  now  1 " 

Wishing  to  keep  within  the  limits  of  the  truth, 
and  at  the  same  time  not  to  be  too  communicative,^ 
I  replied  that  paper-staining  was  my  business. 

"  Ah !  paper-staining.  Do  pretty  well  at  it  1, " 
continued  Mr.  Sol  Davis,  junior. 

I  said  that  I  did  do  pretty  well,  considering. 

"  Ah !  "  pursued  my  interlocutor, "  you  should  go 
in  for  felt  hats.  My  brother-in-law  went  out  to 
San  Francisco,  a  year  and  seven  months  ago,  and 
he's  made  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars,  all 
out  of  felt  hats.    Think  of  that ! " 

I  did  think  that,  in  case  the  paper-staining 
business  came  to  grief,  I  would  follow  the  friendly 
advice  of  Mr.  Sol  Davis,  junior,  and  go  in  for  felt 
hats. 

We  lunched  at  Mr.  Sol  Davis's,  in  a  very  cosy 
little  back  parlour,  and  an  admirable  roast  fowl 
and  a  capital  bottle  of  Medoc  we  had.  Then  my 
friend  took  a  nap,  and  then,  feeling  somewhat 
relieved,  with  a  fragrant  "  planter  "  from  Mr.  Sol 
Davis's  private  box  between  my  lips,  I  strolled 
out  to  have  another  view  of  the  Falls.  It  was 
now  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  stood 
on  the  brink  of  Table  Rock  and  gazed  once  more 
on  the  great,  dreary,  colourless  expanse  of  water, 
foam,  and  spray.  And  this  was  Niagara,  and 
there  was  nothing  more. 

Nothing?     With  a  burst  like  the  sound  of  a 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   SHIRT. 


115 


tiaiiipet,  the  sudden  Sun  came  out.  God  bless 
liiiu  !  there  he  was  ;  and  there,  too,  in  the  midst 
■o'i  the  foaming  waters,  was  set  the  Everlasting 
IJow.  The  rainbow  shone  out  upon  the  cataract ; 
the  sky  turned  blue  ;  the  bright  clarion  had 
iierved  to  call  all  Nature  to  arms ;  the  very  birds 
that  had  been  flapping  dully  over  the  spray 
throughout  the  morning  began  to  sing  ;  and  look- 
ing around  me  I  saw  that  the  whole  scene  had  be- 
come glorified.  There  was  light  and  colour  every- 
where.    The  river  ran  a  stream   of  liquid  gold. 


The  dark  hills  glistened.  The  boulders  of  ice 
sparkled  like  gems.  The  snow  was  all  bathed  in 
iris  tints  —  crimson,  and  yellow,  and  blue,  and 
green,  and  orange,  and  violet.  The  white  houses 
and  belvederes  started  up  against  the  azure  like 
the  mosques  and  minarets  of  Stamboul,  and, 
soaring  high  behind  the  Bow,  was  the  great 
pillar  of  spray,  glancing  and  flashing  like  an 
obelisk  of  diamonds.  And  it  was  then  I  began,  as 
many  men  have  begun,  perchance,  to  wonder  at 
and  to  love  Niagara. 


ifiAGAKA  IN  Summer. 


THE    SONG    OF   THE    SHIET.^ 


[By  Thomas  Hood.] 


ITH  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags. 
Plying  her  needle  and  thread — 
Stitch— stitch — stitch  1 
In  poverty,  hunger  and  dirt, 

And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch 
She  sang  the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt ! " 


"  Work— work — work  ! 
While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof  ; 

And  work — work — work. 
Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof  ! 
It's  O !  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save, 

If  this  is  Christian  work ! 

"  Work — work — work 
Till  the  brain  begins  to  swim  ; 

Work — work — work 
Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim  ! 


Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band,— 
Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam, 
Till  over  the  buttons  I  fall  asleep, 
And  sew  them  on  in  a  dream  ! 

'*  O  I  men  with  Sisters  dear ! 

O  !  men  with  Mothers  and  Wives  ! 
It  is  not  linen  you're  wearing  out. 

But  human  creatures'  lives  ! 
Stitch — stitch — stitch. 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt. 
Sewing  at  once,  with  a  double  thread 

A  Shroud  as  well  as  a  Shirt. 

"  But  why  do  I  talk  of  Death  1 

That  phantom  of  grisly  bone, 
I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape, 

It  seems  so  like  my  own — 
It  seems  so  like  my  own, 

Because  of  the  fasts  I  keep, 
Oh  !  God  !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear, 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  chea'^  I 


♦  By  permission  of  Messrs.  Ward,  Lock,  and  Co. 


116 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  Work — work — work  ! 

My  labour  never  flags  ; 
And  what  are  its  wages'?    A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread — and  rag-s. 
That  shattered  roof, — and  this  naked  floor, — 

A  table, — a  broken  chair, — 
And  a  wall  so  blank,  my  shadow  I  thank 

For  sometimes  falling  there. 

"  Work — work — work  ! 
From  weary  chime  to  chime, 

Work — work — work — 
As  prisoners  work  for  crime  ! 


"  Oh  !  but  to  breathe  the  breath 
Of  the  cowslip  and  primrose  sweet— 

With  the  sky  above  my  head, 

And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet, 
For  only  one  short  hour 

To  feel  as  I  used  to  feel, 
Before  I  knew  the  woes  of  want. 

And  the  walk  that  costs  a  meal ! 

"  Oh  !  but  for  one  short  hour  ! 

A  respite,  however  brief  ! 
No  blessed  leisure  for  Love  or  Hoi)e, 

But  only  time  for  Grief  ! 


'Work— WORK -WORK  : 


Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam, 
Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band. 
Till  the  heart  is  sick,  and  the  brain 
benumbed. 
As  well  as  the  weary  hand. 

"  Work — work — work, 
In  the  dull  December  light. 

And  work — work — work. 
When  the  weather  is  warm  and  bright- 
While  underneath  the  eaves 

The  brooding  swallows  cling. 
As  if  to  show  me  their  sunny  backs 

And  twit  me  with  the  Spring. 


A  little  weeping  w^ould  ease  my  heirt^, 

But  in  their  briny  bed 
My  tears  must  stop,  for  every  dro]) 

Hinders  needle  and  thread  I " 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat,  in  unwomanly  rags, 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread — 
Stitch — stitch— stitch  ! 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt, 
And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch, — 
Would  that  its  tone  could  reach  the  rich  i 

She  sang  this  "  Song  of  the  Shirt ! " 


AT   MRS.    JELLYBY'S. 


117 


AT   MRS.   JELLYBY'S.^ 

[From  "  Bleak  House."      By  Chahlbs  Dickens.] 


;HERE  is  'there,'  Mr.  GuppyV'  said 
Richard,  as  we  went  down  stairs. 

"  No  distance,"  said  Mr.  Guppy  ; 
"round  in  Tha vies'  Inn,  you  know." 
We  all  three  laughed,  and  chatted 
about  our  inexperience,  and  the 
strangeness  of  London,  until  we  turned  up 
under  an  archway,  to  our  destination  :  a 
narrow  street  of  high  houses,  like  an  oblong 
cistern  to  hold  the  fog.  There  was  a  confused 
little  crowd  of  people,  principally  children, 
gathered  about  the  house  at  which  we  stopped, 
which  had  a  tarnished  brass  plate  on  the  door, 
with  the  inscription  Jellyby. 

"  Don't  be  frightened  ! "  said  Mr.  Guppy,  look- 
ing in  at  the  coach- window.  "  One  of  the  young 
Jellybys  been  and  got  his  head  through  the  area 
railings  ! " 

"O  poor  child,"  said  I,  "let  me  out,  if  you 
please  ! " 

"  Pray  be  careful  of  yourself,  miss.  The  young 
Jellybys  are  always  up  to  something,"  said  Mr. 
Guppy. 

I  made  my  way  to  the  poor  child,  who  was  one 
of  the  dirtiest  little  unfortunates  I  ever  saw,  and 
found  him  very  hot  and  frightened,  and  crying 
loudly,  fixed  by  the  neck  between  two  iron  rail- 
ings, while  a  milkman  and  a  beadle,  with  the 
kindest  intentions  possible,  were  endeavouring  to 
drag  him  back  by  the  legs,  under  a  general 
impression  that  his  skull  was  compressible  by 
those  means.  As  I  found  (after  pacifying  him), 
that  he  was  a  little  boy  with  a  naturally  large 
head,  I  thought  that,  perhaps,  where  his  head 
could  go  his  body  could  follow,  and  mentioned 
that  the  best  mode  of  extrication  might  be  to 
push  him  forward.  This  was  so  favourably 
received  by  the  milkman  and  beadle,  that  he 
would  immediately  have  been  pushed  into  the  area, 
if  I  had  not  held  his  pinafore,  while  Richard  and 
Mr.  Guppy  ran  down  through  the  kitchen,  to 
catch  him  when  he  should  be  released.  At  last 
he  was  happily  got  down  without  any  accident, 
and  then  he  began  to  beat  Mr.  Guppy  with  a 
hoop-stick  in  quite  a  frantic  manner. 

Nobody  had  appeared  belonging  to  the  house, 
except  a  person  in  pattens,  who  had  been  poking 
at  the  child  from  below  with  a  broom  ;  I  don't 
know  with  what  object,  and  I  don't  think  she  did. 
I  therefore  supposed  that  Mrs.  Jellyby  was  not 
at  home;  and  was  quite  surprised  when  the 
person  appeared  in  the  passage  without  the 
pattens,  and  going  up  to  the  back  room  on  the 
first  floor,  before  Ada  and  me,  announced  us  as. 


"  Them  two  young  ladies.  Missis  Jellyby  !  "  We 
passed  several  more  children  on  our  way  up, 
whom  it  was  difficult  to  avoid  treading  on  in  the 
dark;  and  as  we  came  into  Mrs.  Jellyby's 
presence,  one  of  the  poor  little  things  fell  down 
stairs — down  a  whole  flight  (as  it  sounded  to  me), 
with  a  great  noise. 

Mrs.  Jellyby,  whose  face  reflected  none  of  the 
uneasiness  which  we  could  not  help  showing  in 
our  own  faces,  as  the  dear  child's  head  recoz-ded 
its  passage  with  a  bump  on  every  stair — Richard 
afterwards  said  he  counted  seven,  besides  one  for 
the  landing — received  us  with  perfect  equanimity. 
She  was  a  pretty,  very  diminutive,  plump  woman, 
of  from  forty  to  fifty,  with  handsome  eyes,  though 
they  had  a  curious  habit  of  seeming  to  look  a  long 
way  off.  As  if — I  am  quoting  Richard  again — 
they  could  see  nothing  further  than  Africa! 

"  I  am  very  glad  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Jellyby,  in 
an  agreeable  voice,  "to  have  the  pleasure  of 
receiving  you.  I  have  a  great  respect  for  Mr. 
Jarndyce ;  and  no  one  in  whom  he  is  interested 
can  be  an  object  of  indifference  to  me." 

We  expressed  our  acknowledgments,  and  sat 
down  behind  the  door  where  there  was  a  lame 
invalid  of  a  sofa.  Mrs  Jellyby  had  very  good 
hair,  but  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  African 
duties  to  brush  it.  The  shawl  in  which  she  had 
been  loosely  muffled  dropped  on  to  her  chair 
when  she  advanced  to  us ;  and  as  she  turned  to 
resume  her  seat,  we  could  not  help  noticing  that 
her  dress  didn't  nearly  meet  up  the  back,  and  that 
the  open  space  was  railed  across  with  a  lattice- 
work of  stay-lace — like  a  summer-house. 

The  room,  which  was  strewed  with  papers  and 
nearly  filled  with  a  great  writing-table  covered 
with  similar  litter,  was,  I  must  say,  not  only  very 
untidy,  but  very  dirty.  We  were  obliged  to  take 
notice  of  that  with  our  sense  of  sight,  even  while, 
with  our  sense  of  hearing,  we  followed  the  poc? 
child  who  had  tumbled  down  stairs  :  I  think  intii. 
the  back  kitchen,  where  somebody  seemed  to  stifle 
him. 

But  what  principally  struck  us  was  a  jaded,  and 
unhealthy-looking,  though  by  no  means  plain  girl, 
at  the  writing-table,  who  sat  biting  the  feather  of 
her  pen,  and  staring  at  us.  I  suppose  nobody  ever 
was  in  such  a  state  of  ink.  And,  from  her  tumbled 
hair  to  her  pretty  feet,  which  were  disfigured  with 
frayed  and  broken  satin  slippers  trodden  down  at 
heel,  she  really  seemed  to  have  no  article  of  dress 
upon  her,  from  a  pin  upwards,  that  was  in  its 
proper  condition  or  its  right  place. 

"  You  find  me,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Jellyby, 


*  By  permission  of  Messrs.  Chapman  and  Hall  (Limited). 


118 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


snuffing  the  two  great  office  candles  in  tin  candle- 
sticks which  made  the  room  taste  strongly  of  hot 
tallow  (the  fire  had  gone  out,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  the  grate  but  ashes,  a  bundle  of  wood, 
and  a  poker),  "you  find  me,  my  dears,  as  usual,  very 
busy ;  but  that  you  will  excuse.  The  African 
project  at  present  employs  my  whole  time.  It 
involves  me  in  correspondence  with  public  bodies, 
and  with  private  individuals  anxious  for  the 
welfare  of  their  species  all  over  the  country.  I 
am  hajipy  to  say  it  is  advancing.  We  hope  by 
this  time  next  year  to  have  from  a  hundred  and 
fifty  to  two  hundred  healthy  families  cultivating 
coffee  and  educating  the  natives  of  Borrioboola- 
Gha,  on  the  left  bank  of  the  Niger." 

As  Ada  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  me,  I  said  it 
must  be  very  gratifying. 

"It  is  gratifying,"  said  Mrs.  Jellyby.  "It 
involves  the  devotion  of  all  my  energies,  such  as 
they  are  ;  but  that  is  nothing,  so  that  it  succeeds  ; 
and  I  am  more  confident  of  success  every  day. 
Do  you  know,  Miss  Summersori,  I  almost  wonder 
that  //ou  never  turned  your  thoughts  to  Africa  1  " 

This  application  of  the  subject  was  really  so 
unexpected  to  me,  that  I  was  quite  at  a  loss  how 
to  receive  it.     I  hinted  that  the  climate 

"  The  finest  climate  in  the  world  ! "  said  Mrs. 
.Jellyby. 

"Indeed,  ma'am?  " 

"Ce.  tainly.  With  precaution,"  said  Mrs.  Jellyby. 
"  You  may  go  into  Holborn,  without  precaution, 
and  be  run  over.  You  may  go  into  Holborn,  with 
precaution  and  never  be  run  over.  Just  so  with 
Africa." 

I  said,  "No  doubt." — I  meant  as  to  Holborn. 

"  If  you  would  like,"  said  Mrs.  Jellyby,  putting 
*>.  number  of  papers  towards  us,  "to  look  over 
some  remarks  on  that  head,  and  on  the  general 
subject  (which  have  been  extensively  circulated), 
while  I  finish  a  letter  I  am  now  dictating — to  my 
eldest  daughter,  who  is  my  amanuensis " 

The  girl  at  the  table  left  off  biting  her  pen,  and 
made  a  return  to  our  recognition,  which  was 
half  bashful  and  half  sulky. 

"  —  I  shall  then  have  finished  for  the  present," 
proceeded  Mrs.  Jellyby,  with  a  sweet  smile ; 
"  though  my  work  is  never  done.  Where  are  you, 
Caddy  ■? " 

" '  Presents  her  compliments  to  Mr.  Swallow, 
and  begs '  "  said  Caddy. 

"  '  — And  begs,'  "  said  Mrs.  Jellyby,  dictating, 
"  '  to  inform  him,  in  reference  to  his  letter  of 
inquiry  on  the  African  project.' — No,  Peepy  I  Not 
on  any  account  1 " 

Peepy  (so  self-named)  was  the  unfortunate  child 
who  had  fallen  down  stairs,  who  now  interrupted 
the  coiTespondence  by  presenting  himself,  with  a 
strip  of  plaster  on  his  forehead,  to  exhibit  his 
wounded  knees,  in  which  Ada  and  I  did  not  know 


which  to  pity  most — the  bruises  or  the  dirt.  Mrs. 
Jellyby  merely  added,  with  the  serene  composure 
with  which  she  said  everything,  "  Go  along,  you 
naughty  Peepy  ! "  and  fixed  her  fine  eyes  on 
Africa  again. 

However,  as  she  at  once  proceeded  with  her 
dictation,  and  as  I  interrupted  nothing  by  doing 
it,  I  ventured  quietly  to  stop  poor  Peepy  as  he 
was  going  out,  and  to  take  him  up  to  nurse.  He 
looked  very  much  astonished  at  it,  and  at  Ada's 
kissing  him  ;  but  soon  fell  fast  asleep  in  my  arms, 
sobbing  at  longer  and  longer  intervals,  until  he 
was  quiet.  I  was  so  occupied  with  Peepy  that  I 
lost  the  letter  in  detail,  though  I  derived  such  a 
general  impression  from  it  of  the  momentous 
importance  of  Africa  and  the  utter  insignificance 
of  all  other  places  and  things,  that  I  felt  quite 
ashamed  to  have  thougl/   so  little  about  it. 

"  Six  o'clock  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jellyby.  "  And  our 
dinner  hour  is  nominally  (for  we  dine  at  all  hours) 
five  !  Caddy,  show  Miss  Clare  and  Miss  Summer- 
son  their  rooms.  You  would  like  to  make  some 
change,  perhaps?  You  will  excuse  me,  I  know, 
being  so  much  occupied.  O,  that  very  bad  child  ! 
Pray  put  him  down,  Miss  Summerson  I  " 

I  begged  pennission  to  retain  him,  truly  saying 
that  he  was  not  at  all  troublesome  ;  and  carried 
him  upstairs  and  laid  him  on  my  bed.  Ada  and 
I  had  two  upper  rooms,  with  a  door  of  com- 
munication between.  They  were  excessively  bare 
and  disorderly,  and  the  curtain  to  my  window  was 
fastened  up  with  a  fork. 

"You  would  like  some  hot  water,  wouldn't 
you  t "  said  Miss  Jellyby,  looking  round  for  a  jug 
with  a  handle  to  it,  but  looking  in  vain. 

"  If  it  is  not  being  troublesome,"  said  we. 

"  O,  it's  not  the  trouble,"  returned  Miss  Jellyby ; 
"  the  question  is,  if  there  is  any." 

The  evening  was  so  very  cold,  and  the  rooms 
had  such  a  marshy  smell,  that  I  must  confess  it 
was  a  little  miserable ;  and  Ada  was  half  crying. 
We  soon  laughed,  however,  and  were  busily 
unpacking,  when  Miss  Jellyby  came  back  to  say, 
that  she  was  sorry  there  was  no  hot  water ;  but 
they  couldn't  find  the  kettle,  and  the  boiler  was 
out  of  order. 

We  begged  her  not  to  mention  it,  and  made  all  the 
haste  we  could  to  get  down  to  the  fire  again.  But 
all  the  little  children  had  come  up  to  the  landing 
outside,  to  look  at  the  phenomenon  of  Peepy 
lying  on  my  bed ;  and  our  attention  was  dis- 
tracted by  the  constant  apparition  of  noses  and 
fingers,  in  situations  of  danger  between  the  hinges 
of  the  doors.  It  was  impossible  to  shut  the  door 
of  either  room  ;  for  my  lock,  with  no  knob  to  it, 
looked  as  if  it  wanted  to  be  wound  up ;  and 
though  the  handle  of  Ada's  went  round  and  round 
with  the  greatest  smoothness,  it  was  attended  with 
no  effect  whatever  on  the  door.      Therefore    I 


BEN    BLOWER'S   STORY. 


119 


proposed  to  the  children  that  they  should  come  in 
and  be  very  good  at  my  table,  and  I  would  tell 
them  the  story  of  little  Red  Riding  Hood  while  I 
dressed;  which  they  did,  and  were  as  quiet  as 
mice,  including  Peepy,  who  awoke  opportunely 
before  the  appearance  of  the  wolf. 

When  we  went  down  stairs  we  found  a  mug, 
with  "  A  Present  from  Tunbridge  Wells  "  on  it, 
lighted  up  in  the  staircase  window  with  a  floating 
wick ;  and  a  young  woman,  with  a  swelled  face 
bound  up  in  a  flannel  bandage,  blowing  the  fire  of 
the  drawing-room   (now  connected  by  an  open 


door  with  Mrs.  Jellyby's  room),  and  choking 
dreadfully.  It  smoked  to  that  degree  hi  short, 
that  we  all  sat  coughing  and  crying  with  the 
windows  open  for  half  an  hour ;  during  which 
Mrs.  Jellyby,  with  the  same  sweetness  of  temper, 
directed  letters  about  Africa.  Her  being  so 
employed  was,  I  must  say,  a  great  relief  to  me ; 
for  Richard  told  us  that  he  had  washed  his  hands 
in  a  pie-dish,  and  that  they  had  found  the  kettle 
on  his  dressing-table  ;  and  he  made  Ada  laugh  so, 
that  they  made  me  laugh  in  the  most  ridiculous^ 
manner. 


BEN     BLOWEE'S      STORT. 

[By  Charles  F.  Hoffman.] 


'RE  you  sure  that's  the  Flame  over  by 
the  shore  % " 

"C^Tting,  manny  !  I  could  tell  her 
pipes  acrostthe  Mazoura."* 
"  And  you  will  overhaul  her  ]  " 
"  Won't  we,  though !  I  tell  ye,  strannger, 
so  sure  as  my  name's  Ben  BloAver,  that 
last  tar-bar '1  I  hove  in  the  furnace  has  put  jist 
the  smart  chance  of  go-ahead  into  us  to  cut  off 
the  Flame  from  yonder  pint,  or  send  our  boat  to 
kingdom  come." 

"  The  dickens  !  "  exclaimed  a  bystander  who, 
intensely  interested  in  the  race,  was  leaning  the 
while  against  the  partitions  of  the  boiler-room. 
"  Pve  chosen  a  nice  place  to  see  the  fun,  near  this 
powder-barrel." 

"Not  so  bad  as  if  you  were  in  it,"  coolly  ob- 
served Ben,  as  the  other  walked  rapidly  away. 
"  As  if  he  were  in  it !  in  what  1  in  the  boiler  %  " 
"  Certinfflfj.      Don't    folks    sometimes   go    into 
bilers,  manny '] " 

"I  should  think  there'd  be  other  parts  of  the 
boat  more  comfortable." 

"  That's  right  ;  poking  fun  at  me  at  once't ;  but 
wait  till  we  get  through  this  brush  with  the  old 
Flame,  and  I'll  tell  ye  of  a  regular  fixin  scrape  that 
a  man  may  get  into.  It's  true,  too,  every  word  of 
it,  as  sure  as  my  name's  Ben  Blower." 

*  TT  #  #  4f!  ^ 

"  You  have  seen  the  Flame  then  afore,  strannger  % 
Six  year  ago,  when  new  upon  the  river,  she  was  a 
raal  out  and  outer,  I  tell  ye.  I  was  at  that  time 
a  hand  aboard  of  her.  Yes,  I  belonged  to  her  at 
the  time  of  her  great  race  with  the  Go-liar.  You've 
heern,  mahap,  of  the  blow-up  by  which  we  lost  it. 
They  made  a  great  fuss  about  it ;  but  it  was 
nothing  but  a  mere  fiz  of  hot  water  after  all.     Only 

•  The  name  "  Missouri ''is  thus  generally  pronounced  upon 
the  western  waters. 


the  si^ringing  of  a  few  rivets,  which  loosened  a 
biler-plate  or  two,  and  let  out  a  thin  spirting 
upon  some  niggers  that  hadn't  sense  enough  to 
get  out  of  the  way.  Well,  the  Go-liar  took  oft' 
our  passengers,  and  we  ran  into  Smasher's  Landing 
to  repair  damages,  and  bury  them  that  were  killed. 
Here  we  laid  for  a  matter  of  thirty  hours  or  so, 
and  got  things  to  rights  on  board  for  a  bran  new 
start.  There  was  some  carpenters'  work  yet  to  be 
done,  but  the  captain  said  that  that  might  be 
fixed  off  jist  as  well  when  we  were  under  weigh — 
we  had  worked  hard — the  weather  was  sour,  and 
we  needn't  do  anything  more  jist  now — we  might 
take  that  afternoon  to  ourselves,  but  the  next 
morning  he'd  get  up  steam  bright  and  airly,  and 
we'd  all  come  out  neiv.  There  was  no  temperance 
society  at  Smasher's  Landing,  and  I  went  ashort 
upon  a  lark  with  some  of  the  hands." 

I  omit  the  worthy  Benjamin's  adventures  upon 
land,  and,  despairing  of  fully  conveying  his 
language  in  its  original  Doric  force,  will  not 
hesitate  to  give  the  rest  of  his  singular  narrative 
in  my  own  words,  save  where,  in  a  few  instances, 
I  can  recall  his  precise  phraseology,  which  the 
reader  will  easily  recognise. 

"  The  night  was  raw  and  sleety  when  I  regained 
the  deck  of  our  boat.  The  officers,  instead  of 
leaving  a  watch  above,  had  closed  up  everything, 
and  shut  themselves  in  the  cabin.  The  fire-room 
only  was  open.  The  boards  dashed  from  the  out- 
side by  the  explosion  had  not  been  yet  replaced. 
The  floor  of  the  room  was  wet,  and  there  was  scarcely 
a  corner  which  afforded  a  shelter  from  the  driving 
storm.  I  was  about  leaving  the  room,  resigned 
to  sleep  in  the  open  air,  and  now  bent  only  upon 
getting  under  the  lee  of  some  bulkhead  that  would 
protect  me  against  the  wind.  In  passing  out  I 
kept  my  arms  stretched  forward  to  feel  my  way  in 
the  dark,  but  my  feet  came  in  contact  with  a 
heavy  iron  lid  ;  I  stumbled,  and,  as  I  fell,  struck 


120 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR    AUTHORS. 


one  of  my  hands  into  the  '  man-hole,'  (I  think  this 
was  the  name  he  gave  to  the  oval-shaped  opening 
in  the  head  of  the  boiler),  through  which  the 
smith  had  entered  to  make  his  repairs.  I  fell 
with  my  arm  thrust  so  far  into  the  aperture  that  I 
received  a  pretty  smart  blow  in  the  face  as  it  came 
in  contact  with  the  head  of  the  boiler,  and  I  did 
not  hesitate  to  drag  my  body  after  it  the  moment 
I  recovered  from  this  stunning  effect,  and  ascer- 
tained my  whereabouts.  In  a  word,  I  crept  into 
the  boiler,  resolved  to  pass  the  rest  of  the  night 
there.  The  place  was  dry  and  sheltered.  Had  my 
bed  been  softer  I  would  have  had  all  that  man 
coidd  desire ;  as  it  was,  I  slept,  and  slept 
soundly." 

"  I  should  mention  though,  that,  before  closing 
Tuy  eyes,  I  several  times  shifted  my  position.  I 
had  gone  first  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  boiler, 
then  again  I  had  crawled  back  to  the  man-hole,  to 
put  my  hand  out  to  feel  that  it  was  really  still 
open.  The  warmest  place  was  at  the  farther  end, 
where  I  finally  established  myself,  and  that  I 
knew  from  the  first.  It  was  foolish  in  me  to 
think  that  the  opening  through  which  I  had  just 
entered  could  be  closed  without  my  hearing  it,  and 
that,  too,  when  no  one  was  astir  but  myself  ;  but 
the  blow  on  the  side  of  my  face  made  me  a  little 
nei^vous  perhaps  ;  besides,  I  never  could  bear  to  be 
shut  up  in  any  place — it  always  gives  a  wild-like 
feeling  about  the  head.  You  may  laugh,  stranger, 
but  I  believe  I  should  suflFocate  in  an  empty  church 
if  I  once  felt  that  I  was  so  shut  up  in  it  that  I 
could  not  get  out.  I  have  met  men  afore  now, 
just  like  me,  or  worse  rather,  much  worse — men 
that  it  made  sort  of  furious,  to  be  tied  down  to 
anything,  yet  so  soft-like  and  contradictory  in 
their  natures  that  you  might  lead  them  anywhere 
so  long  as  they  didn't  feel  the  string.  Stranger, 
it  takes  all  sorts  of  people  to  make  a  world  ;  and 
we  may  have  a  good  many  of  the  worst  kind  of 
77hite  men  here  out  west.  But  I  hav3  seen  folks 
V-pon  this  river — quiet-looking  chaps,  too,  as  ever 
you  see — who  were  so  tetotally  carankterankterous 
that  they'd  shoot  the  doctor  who'd  tell  them  they 
couldn't  live  when  ailing,  and  make  a  die  of  it, 
just  out  of  spite,  when  told  ih&y  must  get  well. 
Yes,  fellows  as  fond  of  the  good  things  of  earth 
as  you  and  I,  yet  who'd  rush  like  mad  right  over 
the  gang-plank  of  life  if  once  brought  to  believe 
that  they  had  to  stay  in  this  world  whether  they 
wanted  to  leave  it  or  not.  Thunder  and  bees  ! 
if  such  a  fellow  as  that  had  heard  the  cocks  crow 
as  I  did— awakened  to  find  darkness  about  him — 
darkness  so  thick  you  might  cut  it  with  a  knife — 
heard  other  sounds,  too,  to  tell  that  it  was  morning, 
and  scrambling  to  fumble  for  that  manhole,  found 
it,  too,  black — closed — black— and  even  as  the  rest 
of  that  iron  coffin  around  him,  closed,  with  not  a 
rivet-hole    to    let     light    and    air    in  —  why  — 


why — he'd  a  swounded  right  down  on  the  spot,  as 
I  did,  and  I  ain't  ashamed  to  own  it  to  no  white 
man." 

The  big  drops  actually  stood  upon  the  poor 
fellow's  brow,  as  he  now  paused  for  a  moment  in 
the  recital  of  his  terrible  story.  He  passed  his 
hand  over  his  rough  features,  and  resumed  it 
with  less  agitation  of  manner. 

"  How  long  I  may  have  remained  there  sense- 
less I  don't  know.  The  doctors  have  since  told 
me  it  must  have  been  a  sort  of  tit — more  like  an 
apoplexy  than  a  swoon,  for  the  attack  finally 
passed  oft'  in  sleep.  Yes,  I  slept ;  I  know  that, 
for  I  dreamed — dreamed  a  heap  o'  things  afore  i 
awoke ;  there  is  but  one  dream,  however,  that  I 
have  ever  been  able  to  recall  distinctly,  and  that 
must  have  come  on  shortly  before  I  recovered  my 
consciousness.  ^ly  resting-place  through  the 
night  had  been,  as  I  have  told  you,  at  the  far 
end  of  the  boiler.  Well,  I  now  dreamed  that  the 
manhole  was  still  open,  and,  what  seems  curious, 
rather  than  laughable,  if  you  take  it  in  connection 
with  other  things,  I  fancied  that  my  legs  had  been 
so  stretched  in  the  long  walk  I  had  taken  the 
evening  before  that  they  now  reached  the  whole 
length  of  the  boiler,  and  extended  through  the 
opening. 

"  At  first  (in  my  dreaming  reflections),  it  was  a 
comfortable  thought,  that  no  one  could  now  shut 
up  the  manhole  without  awakening  me.  But  soon 
it  seemed  as  if  my  feet,  which  were  on  the  outside, 
were  becoming  drenched  in  the  storm  which  had 
originally  driven  me  to  seek  this  shelter.  I  felt 
the  chilling  rain  upon  my  extremities.  They  grew 
colder  and  colder,  and  their  numbness  gradually 
extended  upward  to  other  parts  of  my  body.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  it  was  only  the  under  side 
of  my  i>erson  that  was  thus  strangely  visited.  I 
lay  upon  my  back,  and  it  must  have  been  a  species 
of  nightmare  that  afflicted  me,  for  I  knew  at  last 
that  I  was  dreaming,  yet  felt  it  impossible  to  rouse 
myself.  A  violent  fit  of  coughing  restored  at  last 
my  powers  of  volition.  The  water,  which  had 
been  slowly  rising  around  me,  had  rushed  into  my 
mouth  ;  I  awoke  to  hear  the  rapid  strokes  of  the 
pump  which  was  driving  it  into  the  boiler  ! 

"  My  whole  condition — no — not  all  of  it — not 
yet — mj  j)rese7it  condition  flashed  with  new  horror 
upon  me.  But  I  did  not  again  swoon.  The 
choking  sensation  which  had  made  me  faint  when 
I  first  discovered  how  I  was  entombed  gave  Avay 
to  a  livelier  though  less  overpowering  emotion.  I 
shrieked  even  as  I  started  from  my  slumber.  The 
previous  discovery  of  the  closed  aperture,  with  the 
instant  oblivion  that  followed,  seemed  only  a  part 
of  my  dream,  and  I  threw  my  arms  about  and 
looked  eagerly  for  the  opening  by  which  I  had 
entered  the  horrid  place — yes,  looked  for  it,  and 
felt  for  it,  though  it  was  the  terrible  conviction 


BEN   BLOWER'S   STORY. 


121 


that  it  was  closed — a  second  time  brought  home 
to  me-^which  prompted  my  frenzied  cry.  Every 
sense  seemed  to  have  tenfold  acuteness,  yet  not  one 
to  act  in  unison  with  another.  I  shrieked  again 
aud  again — imploringly — desperately — savagely. 
I  filled  the  hollow  chamber  with  my  cries,  till  its 
iron  walls  seemed  to  tingle  around  me.  The  dull 
strokes  of  the  accursed  pump  seemed  only  to 
mock  at,  while  they  deadened,  my  screams. 

"  At  last  I  gave  myself  up.  It  is  the  struggle 
against  our  fate  which  frenzies  the  mind.  Wo 
cease  to  fear  when  we  cease  to  hope.  I  gave  my- 
self up,  and  then  I  grew  calm  ! 

"  I  was  resigned  to  die — resigned  even  to  my 
mode  of  death.  It  was  not,  I  thought,  so  very 
new  after  all,  as  to  awaken  unwonted  horror 
in  a  man.  Thousands  have  been  sunk  to 
the  bottom  of  the  ocean  shut  up  in  the  holds  of 
vessels — beating  themselves  against  the  battened 
hatches  —  dragged  down  from  the  upper  world 
shrieking,  not  for  life,  but  for  death  only  beneath 
the  eye  and  amid  the  breath  of  heaven.  Thousands 
have  endured  that  appalling  kind  of  suffocation. 
I  would  die  only  as  many  a  better  man  had  died 
before  me.  I  could  meet  such  a  death.  I  said  so 
— I  thought  so — I  felt  so — felt  so,  I  mean,  for  a 
minute — or  more  ;  ten  minutes  it  may  have  been — 
or  but  an  instant  of  time.  I  know  not,  nor  does 
it  matter  it  I  could  compute  it.  There  tvas  a  time, 
then,  when  I  was  resigned  to  my  fate.  But, 
Heaven  !  was  I  resigned  to  it  in  the  shape  in 
which  next  it  came  to  appal?  Stranger,  I  felt 
that  water  growing  hot  about  my  limbs,  though 
it  was  yet  mid-leg  deep.  I  felt  it,  and  in  the 
.same  moment  heard  the  roar  of  the  furnace  that 
was  to  turn  it  into  steam  before  it  could  get  deep 
enough  to  drown  one  ! 

"  You  shudder.  It  was  hideous.  But  did  I 
.shrink  and  shrivel,  and  crumble  down  upon  that 
iron  floor,  and  lose  my  senses  in  that  horrid  agony 
of  fear  1  No !  though  my  brain  swam  and  the  life- 
blood  that  curdled  at  my  heart  seemed  about  to 
stagnate  there  for  ever,  still  /  knew  !  I  was  too 
hoarse — too  hopeless — from  my  previous  efforts,  to 
cry  out  more.  But  I  struck— feebly  at  first,  and 
then  strongly— frantically  with  my  clenched  fist 
against  the  sides  of  the  boiler.  There  were  people 
moving  near  who  imist  hear  my  blows !  Could  not 
I  hear  the  grating  of  chains,  the  shuffling  of  feet, 
the  very  rustle  of  a  rope — hear  them  all,  within  a 
few  inches  of  me  ?  I  did ;  but  the  gurgling  "water 
that  was  growing  hotter  and  hotter  around  my  ex- 
tremities made  more  noise  within  the  steaming  caul- 
dron than  did  my  frenzied  blows  against  its  sides. 

"  Latterly  I  had  hardly  changed  my  position, 
but  now  the  growing  heat  of  the  water  made  me 
plash  to  and  fro ;  lifting  myself  wholly  out  of  it 
was  impossible,  but  I  could  not  remain  quiet. 
I   stumbled  upon   something;  it   was  a  mallet, 


a  chance  tool  the  smith  had  left  there  by  accident. 
Wit"h  what  wild  joy  did  I  seize  it— with  what 
eager  confidence  did  I  now  deal  my  first  blows 
with  it  against  the  walls  of  my  prison!  But 
scarce  had  I  intermitted  them  for  a  moment 
when  I  heard  the  clang  of  the  iron  door  as  the 
fireman  flung  it  wide  to  feed  the  flames  that  were 
to  torture  me.  My  knocking  was  unheard,  though 
I  could  hear  him  toss  the  sticks  into  the  furnace 
beneath  me,  and  drive  to  the  door  when  his  oven 
was  fully  crammed. 

"  Had  I  yet  a  hope  1  I  had  ;  but  it  rose  in  my 
mind  side  by  side  with  the  fear  that  I  might  now 
become  the  agent  of  preparing  myself  a  more 
frightful  death.  Yes  ;  when  I  thought  of  that 
furnace  with  its  fresh-fed  flames  curling  beneath 
the  iron  upon  which  I  stood — a  more  frightful 
death  even  than  that  of  being  boiled  alive  1  Had 
I  discovered  that  mallet  but  a  short  time  sooner 
— but  no  matter,  I  would  by  its  aid  resort  to  the 
only  expedient  now  left. 

"  It  was  this.  I  remembered  having  a  marline 
spike  in  my  pocket,  and  in  less  time  than  I  have 
taken  in  hinting  at  the  consequences  of  thus 
using  it,  I  had  made  an  impression  upon  the  sides 
of  the  boiler,  and  soon  succeeded  in  driving  it 
through.  The  water  gushed  through  the  aperture 
— would  they  see  it  1  No  ;  the  jet  could  only 
play  against  a  wooden  partition  which  must  hide 
the  stream  from  view  ;  it  must  trickle  down  ui)on 
the  decks  before  the  leakage  would  be  discovered. 
Should  I  drive  another  hole  to  make  that  leakage 
greater  1  Why,  the  water  within  seemed  already 
to  be  sensibly  diminished,  so  hot  had  become  that 
which  remained  ;  should  more  escape,  would  I  not 
hear  it  bubble  and  hiss  upon  the  fiery  plates  of  iron 
that  were  already  scorching  the  soles  of  my  feet  1 

"  Ah  !  there  is  a  movement — voices — I  hear 
them  calling  for  a  crowbar.  The  bulkhead  cracks 
as  they  pry  off  the  planking.  They  have  seen  the 
leak— they  are  trying  to  get  at  it !  Good  God  ! 
why  do  they  not  first  dampen  the  fire  ?  why  do 
they  call  for  the — the — 

"  Stranger,  look  at  that  finger  :  it  can  never 
regain  its  natural  size  ;  but  it  has  already  done  all 
the  service  that  man  could  expect  from  so  humble 
a  member.  Sir,  that  hole  tvould  have  been  pliujged 
up  on  the  instant  unless  I  had  jammed  my  fiwjer 
through  ! 

"I  heard  the  cry  of  horror  as  they  saw  it 
without— the  shout  to  drown  the  fire— the  first 
stroke  of  the  cold-water  pump.  They  say,  too, 
that  I  was  conscious  when  they  took  me  out— but 
I— I  remember  nothing  more  till  they  brought  a 
julep  to  my  bedside  arterwards,  And  thatjvltp!—' 

"  Cooling,  was  it  ] " 

"  Strannger  ! ! ! " 

Ben  turned  away  his  head  and  wept— He  could 
say  no  more. 


122 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


A    EEALLY    GOOD    DAY'S    FISHING. 

[By  James  Patn.] 


HAVE  a  most  un- 
feigned admiration 
of  good  old  Izaak 
Walton,  and  all 
fishermen ;  I  like 
to  think  of  them 
as  contemplative 
men,  who  might 
have  been  anything 
they  chose — states- 
men, divines,  poets 
— only  that  they 
preferred  being 
fishermen  —  lovers 
of  their  kind,  lovers  of  scenery,  lovers  of  all 
living  things,  and  possessing  some  good  and 
unquestionable  proof  that  the  worm,  which  they 
thread  alive  upon  their  pitiless  hook,  and  which, 
to  the  ordinaiy  eye  certainly  seems  not  to  like 
it,  does  not  in  reality  suffer  in  the  least.  I  con- 
fess I  have  been  many  times  upon  the  verge  of 
calling  Piscator,  my  uncle,  from  whom  I  have 
expectations  which  such  an  appellation  would 
ruin,  a  cruel  and  cold-blooded  old  villain  for  the 
quiet  way  in  which  he  will  torture  his  live  bait 
— never  taking  the  poor  creature  off  until  it  has 
wriggled  its  last,  and  then  instantly  impaling  a 
fresh  victim — or  selecting  a  lively  minnow  out  of 
his  green  water-box,  and  throwing  him  into  the 
pleasant  river,  his  wished-for  home,  with  a  hook 
that  he  does  not  know  of  at  first,  poor  thing,  in  his 
under-jaw.  When  he  has  done  his  duty  even  ever 
so  well,  and  given  warning  of  the  approach  of  prey 
in  the  most  sagacious  manner  by  pulling  at  the 
float,  and  has  been  rescued  alive,  Jonah-like,  from 
the  interior  of  some  enormous  fish,  Piscator  will 
not  yet  suffer  him  to  depart,  but,  confessing  that 
he  is  a  very  good  bait— as  if  that  compliment 
could  atone  for  these  many  indignities  and  pains 
—drops  him  again  delicately  into  the  stream  ;  con- 
duct only  to  be  equalled  by  that  of  the  widow  lady  in 
the  legend,  whose  late  husband's  body  is  discovered 
by  her  lover  in  the  garden  fish-pond,  a  receptacle 
for  eels  ;  upon  which, "  Poor  dear  Sir  Thomas,"  said 
the  lady,  "put  him  in  again,  perhaps  he'll  catch  us 
tome  more."  Worse  than  all,  to  my  taste,  looks 
my  revered  uncle,  when  he  is  running  after  a 
May-fly,  in  order  to  impale  that  :  one  can  bear  to 
see  a  boy  in  pursuit  of  a  butterfly,  because  it  is 
not  so  much  cruelty  that  actuates  him  as  curiosity  ; 
but  an  old  gentleman,  bald,  pursy — which  epithet 
reminds  me  that  I  must  not  let  Piscator  peruse 
these  remarks — and  perspiring,  striving  to  catch 
and  put  to  death,  under  circumstances  of  peculiar 


atrocity,  a  happy  and  inoffensive  insect,  is  a 
shameful  sight.  No ;  I  confess  I  like  to  see  fisher- 
men use  artificial  flies ;  the  mere  hooking  of 
the  fish — which,  after  all,  are  meant  to  be  eaten 
— through  those  horny,  bloodless  lips  of  theirs- 
I  don't  believe  is  very  painful ;  and  I  regai'd  these 
baits  with  a  clear  conscience.  A  good  fisherman's 
book  is  a  museum  of  unnatural  science,  and  I  like 
to  examine  it  gratis  upon  some  river-bank,  with  a 
cigar  in  my  mouth,  while  Piscator  fishes.  He  sets 
about  this  new  creation  about  October,  and  by 
April  has  finished  quite  a  pocket-full  of  these 
additions  to  nature.  This  scarlet  fly,  almost  a.'f 
big  as  a  bird  of  jmradise,  must  have  taken  him  a, 
good  long  time.  "  It  is  a  military  insect,  and  a 
most  tremendous  bait  for  the  female,"  says  mj' 
uncle,  who,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  is  a  confirmed 
old  bachelor  ;  "there  is  nothing  in  that  fine 
creature  whatever  except  a  little  wood  and  wire ; 
but  he  kills.  Bob— he  kills." 

Why,  by-the-bye,  do  pursy  old  fellows,  after 
fifty,  almost  without  exception,  repeat  their 
words  1 

"It  is  a  fine  day,"  observes  Piscator,  when  I 
salute  him  in  the  morning — "  a  very  fine  day  —  a 
very  fine  day,  indeed.  Bob,"  as  though  there  was 
somebody  contradicting  that  assertion.  "And 
your  mother  is  well,  is  she.  Bob  ?  Your  mother  is 
well  1  Good,  Bob,  good — very  good."  I  think 
they  have  some  idea  that  this  makes  an  ordinary 
sentence  remarkable,  and  they  wish,  perhaps,  to 
give  you  an  opportunity  or  two  of  setting  it  down 
in  your  note-book. 

"  What  is  this  huge  black  and  white  fly,  uncle,"  L 
inquire,  "  like  an  excellent  imitation  of  a  death's- 
head  moth  ] " 

"Death's-head  fiddlestick!"  cries  Piscator,  in  a 
fury,  "  it's  nothing  of  the  kind.  Bob — nothing  of 
the  kind.  I  call  it  the  Popular  Preacher^  and  it 
is  also  a  good  bait  for  the  female  —  the  serious 
female,  that  is.  I  have  killed  a  number  of  chub 
with  that  fly.  Sir — a  number  of  stout  chub." 

There  is  a  sort  of  box,  also,  attached  to  Piscator's 
book  which  contains  even  still  more  wonderful 
efiigies ;  spinning  minnows,  twice  as  large  as  any 
in  real  Hfe,  and  furnished  with  Archimedean  screws', 
mice  with  machinery  inside  instead  of  intestines,, 
and  composite  animals — half  toad,  half  gargoyle 
—of  which  pike  are  supposed  to  become  readily 
enamoured. 

What  a  glorious  amusement  must  indeed  be 
that  of  the  fly-fisher,  climbing,  up  in  his  huge 
waterproof  boots  the  bed  of  some  rock-strewn 
stream,  amid  the  music  of  a  hvindred  falls,  and 


A   REALLY   GOOD   DAY'S   FISHING. 


123 


under  the  branching  shelter  of  the  oak  and  moun- 
tain ash,  through  which  the  sunbeams  weave 
such  fairy  patterns  ujjon  his  watery  path !  I  never 
could  throw  a  fly  myself  by  reason  of  those  same 
{^ranches  ;  I  left  my  uncle's  favourite  killer — 
brown,  with  a  yellow  stripe  —  at  the  top  of  an 
inaccessible  alder,  on  our  very  last  expedition 
together,  just  after  we  had  taken  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  too,  in  its  extrication  from  the  right  calf 
of  Piscator,  where  I  had  inadvertently  hitched  it. 
I  am  too  clumsy  and  near-sighted,  and  indeed 
much  too  impatient  for  the  higher  flights  of  fish- 
ing. Piscator  starts  in  the  dusk,  in  order  to  be  up 
at  some  mountain-tarn  by  daylight,  and  comes 
tack  in  the  evening  with  half-a-dozen  tine  trout, 
well  satisfied ;  now  I  would  much  rather  have 
half-an-hour's  fishing  for  bleak  in  a  ditch  with  a 
landing-net. 

However,  at  the  end  of  this  last  summer,  I 
had  one  really  good  day's  fishing,  killing  with  my 
single  rod,  carp  and  trout  of  such  magnitude  and 
number  as  Piscator  himself  would  have  been 
proud  to  tell  of  ;  and  it  came  to  pass  in  this  way. 

The  Marquis  of  B— -,  whom  I  caU  "  B."  in 
■conversation  with  strangers  —  is  a  good  friend 
of  mine,  who  has  known  me  for  many  years.  If 
he  met  me  in  the  market-place  of  our  borough, 
his  lordship  would,  I  am  sure,  say  :  "  How  d'ye 
*lo  1 "  or,  "  How  are  you  ] "  and  thank  me,  per- 
liaps,  for  the  pains  I  took  about  the  return  of  his 
.second  son.  I  have  dined  more  than  once  at  the 
Hall,  during  election  time,  and  his  lordship  has 
not  failed  to  observe  to  me  :  "A  glass  of  wine 
■with  you  1 "  or,  "  Will  you  join  us,  my  dear  Sir  1 " 
quite  confidentially  upon  each  occasion ;  the 
words  may  be  nothing  indeed,  but  his  lordship's 
manner  is  such  that  I  protest  that  when  he  speaks 
to  me  I  feel  as  if  /  had  had  the  wine.  Well,  only  a 
month  ago,  he  sent  me  a  card,  permitting  me  to 
liave  one  day's  fishing  in  his  home  preserves. 
Piscator  tried  to  persuade  me  to  give  up  it  to  hiin, 
but  I  said  "  No,"  because  he  can  catch  fish  anywhere 
and  I  do  not  possess  that  faculty  ;  so  he  gave  me 
the  most  minute  directions  overnight,  and  lent  me 
his  famous  book  of  flies,  and  his  best  rod. 

How  beautiful  looked  the  grand  old  park  upon 
that  August  morning!     The  deer — 

"  In  copse  and  fern, 
Twinkled  the  innumerable  ear  and  tail," — 

cropping  with  reverted  glance  the  short  rich 
herbage,  or  bounding  across  the  carriage  drives  in 
herds  ;  the  mighty  oak-trees,  shadowing  half-an- 
acre  each  ;  the  sedgy  pools,  with  water-fowl  rising 
from  their  rims  with  sudden  cry  ;  and  the  wind- 
ing brooks,  where  shot  the  frequent  trout  from 
side  to  side.  Now  from  their  right  banks  I  fished 
— now  from  their  left ;  and  now,  regretful  that  I 
did  not  borrow  Piscator's  boots,  I  strode,  with 


turned-up  trousers,  in  the  very  bed  of  the  stream  ; 
still  I  could  not  touch  a  fin.  I  began  to  think 
that  my  uncle  had  given  me,  out  of  envy,  wrong 
directions,  and  provided  me  with  impossible  flies. 
At  last  I  came  upon  a  large  brown  pool  with  a 
tumbling  fall;  and  "Now,"  cried  I  aloud,  "for  a 
tremendous  trout,  or  never  !  " 

"  Never,"  cried  a  hoarse  voice,  with  provincial 
accent ;  "  I'm  dang'd  if  thee  isn't  a  cool  hand, 
anyway." 

This  was  the  keeper.  I  saw  how  the  case  stood 
at  once,  and  determined  to  have  a  little  sport  of 
some  kind,  at  all  events. 

"Hush,  my  good  man,"  I  whispered,  "don't 
make  a  noise ;  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  there 
are  fish  here." 

"  Woot  thee  coom  out  of  t'  stream  (it  was  up 
to  my  waist),  or  maun  I  coom  in  and  fetch  thee  1 " 


"No,"  said  I  blandly,  don't  come  in  on  any 
account,  the  least  splash  would  be  fatal  :  stay  just 
where  you  are,  and  I  daresay  you  will  see  me  catch 
one  in  this  very  spot.     It's  beautiful  weather." 

I  got  out  upon  one  bank,  as  the  giant,  speechless 
with  rage,  slipped  in  from  the  other.  When  he 
had  waded  half-way  across — 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  poaching,  my  good  man  1 " 
inquired  I  innocently. 

"  I  knaws  thee  is't,"  quoth  the  keeper,  adding  a 
violent  expletive. 

"  Well,  I  have  a  card  here  from  my  friend  B.," 
said  I,  "  which  I  should  have  thought  was  quite 
sufficient." 

"  Thy  friend  B. ! "  roared  the  other  sarcastically, 
"  let  me  get  at  thee." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "old  B.  of  the  Hall;  don't  you 
know  him  1 — the  marquis." 

The  dripping  savage  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  my  ticket  of  permission  was  genuine. 


124 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  But  how  do  I  knaw  as  thee  beest  the  right  man 
as  is  named  here  ? "  urged  he,  obstinately. 

A  cold  sweat  began  to  bedew  me,  for  I  had  not 
thought  it  necessary  to  bring  out  my  visiting  cards. 

"  Right  man !  "  cried  I  indignantly  ;  "  of  course 
I  am,  why  not  ] " 

"  Of  coorse,  why  of  coorse,"  sneered  the  brutal 
ruffian,  "  thee  must  coom  along  with  me." 

A  bright  thought  suddenly  flashed  across  me  : 
"  Look  here,  my  good  man ;  look  at  my  pocket 
handkerchief  ;  J.  P. ;  aint  those  the  right  initials  1 
I'll  tell  B.  of  you  as  sure  as  you  live."  At  which 
the  giant,  convinced  against  his  will,  left  me  in 
peace. 

I  fished  until  dewy  eve,  and  still  caught  nothing. 
At  last,  in  the  near  neighbourhood  of  the  Hall 
itself,  I  came  upon  a. little  pond  environed  by 
trees ;  the  fish  were  so  numerous  in  it,  that  they 
absolutely  darkened  the  water.  I  had  only  just 
lodged  my  fly  on  the  surface,  and  behold  I  I  caught 
and  easily  landed  a  magnificent  carp  ;  again,  and  a 
trout  of  at  least  six  pomids  rewarded  me  ;  a  third 
time,  and  I  hooked  another  carp ;  and  so  on.  I 
was  intoxicated  with  my  success.  In  the  couple  of 
hours  of  daylight  which  yet  remained  to  me,  I  filled 
not  only  Piscator's  largest  fishing-basket,  but  my 
pockets  also.  "  What  will  my  uncle  say  to  this  1  " 
thought  L  He  did  not  know  what  to  say.  We 
dined,  we  supped,  we  breakfasted  off  the  very 
finest ;  we  spent  the  next  morning  in  despatching 
the  next  best  in  baskets  to  distant  friends.  I  was 
the  hero  of  the  family  for  four-and  twenty  hours, 
although  Piscator  tried  to  make  out  that  it  was  all 
owing  to  the  excellence  of    his   flies.     At  four 


o'clock  on  the  following  afternoon,  however, 
arrived  my  friend  the  keeper,  taller  than  ever, 
pale  wdth  passion,  more  inimicallookiug  than  on 
the  day  before. 

"  Well,  thee  hast  about  been  and  done  it  with 
thy  ticket  and  thy  friend  B.,"  quoth  he. 

*'  Yes,"  said  I  cheerfully,  "  you're  right  :  I 
rather  flatter  myself  I  have.  Sixty-seven  pounds 
of  fish,  my  man  "  (triumphantly). 

"  Sixty-seven  pounds ! "  said  he,  with  a  ghastly 
grin. 

"  Ay,"  said  I,  "  not  an  ounce  less  :  thirty  pounds 
of  carp,  twenty  pounds  of  trout,  and  seventeen 
pounds  of — I'm  hanged  if  I  know  what  fish." 

"  Thirty  pounds  of  carp,  twenty  pounds  of  trout, 
and  seventeen  pounds  of  he's  hanged  if  he  knows 
what  fish,"  repeated  the  keeper,  as  if  he  was  going 
to  cry. 

"  Yes,"  added  I ;  "and  all  out  of  one  little  bit  of 
a  pond." 

"  Pond !  "  cried  Piscator,  entering  the  room  at 
this  juncture,  "  you  never  told  me  anything  about 
a  pond.  Bob." 

"  Well — no,"  said  I,  blushing  a  little.  "  I  con- 
fess I  thought  it  better  to  say  stream.  I  did  catch 
them  in  the  pond  close  by  the  Hall." 

"  Why,  you've  been  fishing  in  the  marquis's  pri- 
vate stew.  Bob  !  "  cried  my  uncle,  horror-struck. 

"Yes,"  cried  the  keeper,  blowing  into  his  fists, 
as  if  preparing  for  a  murderous  assault  upon  my 
countenance ;  "  he's  been  a  fishing  in  the  stew- 
pond,  in  his  friend  B.'s  private  stew." 

And  this  was  the  only  really  good  day's  fishing 
I  ever  had. 


LOED    ULLIN'S    DAUGHTER. 

[By  Thomas  Campbell.] 


CHIEFTAIN  to  the  Highlands  bound, 
Cries,  "  Boatman,  do  not  tarry  ! 

And  I  '11  give  thee  a  silver  pound 
To  row  us  o'er  the  ferry." 

Now,  who  be  ye  would  cross  Lochgyle, 
This  dark  and  stormy  water  ?" 
"  Oh  !  I  'm  the  chief  of  Ulva's  Isle, 
And  this,  Lord  Ullin's  daughter. 

"And  fast  before  her  father's  men 

Three  days  we've  fled  together  ; 
For,  should  he  find  us  in  the  glen, 

My  blood  would  stain  the  heather, 

"  His  horsemen  hard  behind  us  ride  ; 

Should  they  our  steps  discover, 
Then  who  will  cheer  my  bonny  bride 

When  they  have  slain  her  lover  1 " 


Out  spoke  the  hardy  island  wight, 
"  I  '11  go,  my  chief — I  'm  ready  : 

It  is  not  for  your  silver  bright. 
But  for  your  winsome  lady. 

"  And  by  my  word,  the  bonny  bird 

In  danger  shall  not  tarry  ; 
So,  though  the  waves  are  raging  white, 

I  '11  row  you  o'er  the  ferry." 

By  this  the  storm  grew  loud  apace. 
The  water  wraith  was  shrieking ; 

And  in  the  scowl  of  heaven  each  face 
Grew  dark  as  they  were  speaking. 

But  still,  as  wilder  blew  the  wind. 
And  as  the  night  grew  drearer, 

Adown  the  glen  rode  armed  men — 
Their  trampling  sounded  nearer. 


LORD    ULLIN'S   DAUGHTER. 


125 


"  Oh  !  haste  thee,  haste  ! "  the  lady  cries, 
"  Though  tempests  round  us  gather  ; 

I  '11  Tieet  the  raging  of  the  skies, 
But  not  an  angry  father." 


For,  sore  dismayed,  through  storm  and  shade 

His  child  he  did  discover  : 
One  lovely  hand  she  stretched  for  aid, 

And  one  was  round  her  lover. 


At  the  Febey.     {Drawn  hj  M'.  Small.) 


The  boat  has  left  a  stormy  land, 

A  stormy  sea  before  her ; 
When,  oh  !  too  strong  for  human  hand, 

The  tempest  gathered  o'er  her. 

And  still  they  rowed  amidst  the  roar 

Of  waters  fast  prevailing  ; 
Lord  UUin  reached  that  fatal  shore. 

His  wrath  was  changed  to  wailing. 


"  Come  back  !    come  back  ! "  he  cried  in  grief, 

"  Across  this  stormy  water  ; 
And  I  '11  forgive  your  Highland  chief. 

My  daughter— oh  !  my  daughter  ! " 

'Twas  vain :  the  loud  waves  lashed  the  shore. 

Return  or  aid  preventing  ; 
The  waters  wild  went  o'er  his  child, 

And  he  was  left  lamenting. 


126 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


MY    UNCLE    EOLAND'S    TALE* 

[By  LoKD  Lytton.] 


was  in  Spain,  no  mattei*  wliere  or 
how,  that  it  was  my  fortune  to 
take  prisoner  a  French  officer  of 
the  same  rank  that  I  then  held— a 
lieutenant;  and  there  was  so  much 
similarity  in  our  sentiments,  that 
we  became  intimate  friends — the 
most  intimate  friend  I  ever  had, 
sister,  out  of  this  dear  circle.  He  was  a  rough 
soldier,  whom  the  world  had  not  well  treated ; 
but  he  never  railed  at  the  world,  and  maintained 
that  he  had  had  his  deserts.  Honour  was  his 
idol,  and  the  sense  of  honour  paid  him  for  the  loss 
of  all  else. 

"We  were  both  at  that  time  volunteers  in  a 
foreign  service — in  that  worst  of  service,  civil 
war,— he  on  one  side,  I  on  the  other, — both, 
perhaps,  disappointed  in  the  cause  we  had 
.severally  espoused.  There  was  something  similar, 
too,  in  our  domestic  relationships.  He  had  a  son 
— a  boy — who  was  all  in  life  to  him,  next  to  his 
country  and  his  duty.  I,  too,  had  then  such  a 
son,  though  of  fewer  years."  (The  Captain  paused 
an  instant :  we  exchanged  glances,  and  a  stifling 
sensation  of  pain  and  suspense  was  felt  by  all  his 
listeners.)  "We  were  accustomed,  brother,  to  talk 
of  these  children  —  to  picture  their  future,  to 
compare  our  hopes  and  dreams.  We  hoped  and 
dreamed  alike.  A  short  time  sufficed  to  establish 
this  confidence.  My  prisoner  was  sent  to  head- 
quarters, and  soon  afterwards  exchanged. 

"We  met  no  more  till  last  year.  Being  then  at 
Paris,  I  inquired  for  my  old  friend,  and  learned 

that  he  was  living  at  R ,  a  few  miles  from  the 

capital  I  went  to  visit  him.  I  found  his  house 
empty  and  deserted.  That  very  day  he  had  been 
led  to  prison,  charged  with,  a  terrible  crime.  1 
saw  him  in  that  prison,  and  from  his  own  lips 
learned  his  story.  His  son  had  been  brought  up, 
as  he  fondly  believed,  in  the  habits  and  principles 
of  honourable    men ;   and,  having    finished    his 

education,  came  to  reside  with  him  at  R . 

The  young  man  was  accustomed  to  go  frequently 
to  Paris.  A  young  Frenchman  loves  pleasure, 
sister;  and  pleasure  is  found  at  Paris.  The 
father  thought  it  natural,  and  stripped  his  age  of 
some  comfoiis  to  supply  luxuries  to  the  son's 
youth. 

"Shortly  after  the  young  man's  arrival,  my 
friend  perceived  that  he  was  robbed.  Moneys 
kept  in  his  bureau  were  abstracted  he  knew  not 
how,  nor  could  guess  by  whom.     It  must  be  done 


in  the  night.  He  concealed  himself,  and  watched. 
He  saw  a  stealthy  figure  glide  in,  he  saw  a  false 
key  applied  to  the  lock — he  started  forward, 
seized  the  felon,  and  recognised  his  son.  What 
should  the  father  have  done  1  I  do  not  ask  i/oit, 
sister !  I  ask  these  men,  son  and  father,  I  ask 
you." 

"  Expelled  him  the  house,"  cried  L 

"Done  his  duty,  and  reformed  the  unhappy 
wretch,"  said  my  father.  "  J\^emo  repe7ite  tur- 
jnssimns  semper  f nit — No  man  is  wholly  bad  all  at 
once." 

"  The  father  did  as  you  would  have  advised, 
brother.  He  kept  the  youth;  he  remonstrated 
with  him  ;  he  did  more — he  gave  him  the  key  of 
the  bureau.  'Take  what  I  have  to  give,'  said 
he  :  '  I  would  rather  be  a  beggar  than  know  my 
son  a  thief.' " 

"  Right :  and  the  youth  repented,  and  became  a 
good  man  1 "  exclaimed  my  father. 

Captain  Roland  shook  his  head.  "  The  youth 
promised  amendment,  and  seemed  penitent.  He 
spoke  of  the  temptations  of  Paris,  the  gaming- 
table, and  what  not.  He  gave  up  his  daily  visits 
to  the  capital.  He  seemed  to  apply  to  study. 
Shortly  after  this,  the  neighbourhood  was  alarmed 
by  reports  of  night  robberies  on  the  road.  Men 
masked  and  armed,  plundered  travellers,  and 
even  broke  into  houses. 

"The  police  were  on  the  alert.  One  night  an 
old  brother  officer  knocked  at  my  friend's  door.  It 
was  late  :  the  veteran  (he  was  a  cripple,  by  the 
way,  like  myself — strange  coincidence  !)  was  in 
bed.  He  came  down  in  haste,  when  his  servant 
woke  and  told  him  that  his  old  friend,  wounded 
and  bleeding,  sought  an  asylum  under  his  roof. 
The  wound,  however,  was  slight.  The  guest  had 
been  attacked  and  robbed  on  the  road.  The  next 
morning  the  proper  authority  of  the  town  was 
sent  for.  The  plundered  man  described  his  loss — 
some  billets  of  five  hundred  francs  in  a  pocket- 
book,  on  which  was  embroidered  his  name  and 
coronet  (he  was  a  vicomte).  The  guest  stayed  to 
dinner.  Late  in  the  forenoon,  the  son  looked  in. 
The  guest  started  to  see  him  :  my  friend  noticed 
his  paleness.  Shortly  after,  on  pretence  of  faint- 
ness,  the  guest  retired  to  his  room,  and  sent  for 
his  host.  '  My  friend,'  said  he,  '  can  you  do  me  a 
favour  ?— go  to  the  magistrate  and  recall  the 
evidence  I  have  given.' 

" '  Impossible,'  said  the  host.  'What  crotchet  is 
this?" 


By  permissiun  of  Messrs.  George  Eoutledge  and  Sons. 


MY   UNCLE   ROLAND'S  TALE. 


127 


"  The  guest  shuddered.  '■Peste  ! '  said  he  :  '  I 
do  not  wish  in  my  old  age  to  be  hard  on  others. 
Who  knows  how  the  robber  may  have  been 
tempted,  and  who  knows  what  relations  he  may 
have — honest  men,  whom  his  crime  would  degrade 
for  ever  !  Good  heavens  !  if  detected  it  is  the 
galleys,  the  galleys  ! ' 

" '  And  what  then  ? — the  robber  knew  what  he 
braved.' 

"'But  did  his  father  know  it?'  cried  the 
guest. 

"  A  light  broke  upon  my  unhappy  comrade  in 
arms  :  he  caught  his  friend  by  the  hand — '  You 
turned  pale  at  my  son's  sight — where  did  you  ever 
see  him  before  1 '  Sjieak  ! ' 

"  '  Last  night,  on  the  road  to  Paris.  The  mask 
slipped  aside.     Call  back  my  evidence  ! ' 

" '  You  are  mistaken,'  said  my  friend  calmly. 
'  I  saw  my  son  in  his  bed,  and  blessed  him,  before 
I  went  to  my  own.' 

" '  I  will  believe  you,'  said  the  guest ;  '  and 
never  shall  my  hasty  suspicion  pass  my  lips — but 
call  back  the  evidence.' 

"  The  guest  returned  to  Paris  before  dusk.  The 
father  conversed  with  his  son  on  the  subject  of 
his  studies  ;  he  followed  him  to  his  room,  waited 
till  he  was  in  bed,  and  was  then  about  to  retire, 
when  the  youth  said,  '  Father,  you  have  forgotten 
your  blessing.' 

"  The  father  went  back,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  head  and  prayed.  He  was  credulous — 
fathers  are  so !  He  was  persuaded  that  his  friend 
had  been  deceived.  He  retired  to  rest,  and  fell 
asleep.  He  woke  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  and  felt  (I  here  quote  his  words)  — '  I  felt,' 
said  he,  'as  if  a  voice  had  awakened  me — a  voice 
that  said  "Rise  and  search."  I  rose  at  once, 
struck  a  light,  and  went  to  my  son's  room.  The 
door  was  locked.  I  knocked  once,  twice,  thrice, — 
no  answer.  I  dared  not  call  aloud,  lest  I  should 
rouse  the  servants.  I  went  down  the  stairs — I 
opened  the  back-door — I  passed  to  the  stables. 
My  own  horse  was  there,  not  my  son's.  My  horse 
neighed  ;  it  was  old,  like  myself — my  old  charger 
at  Mont  St.  Jean.  I  stole  back,  I  crept  into  the 
shadow  of  th0  wall  by  my  son's  door,  and  ex- 
tinguished my  light.  I  felt  as  if  I  were  a  thief 
myself." 

"  Brother,"  interrupted  my  mother  under  her 
breath,  "speak  in  your  own  words,  not  in  this 
wretched  father's.  I  know  not  why,  but  it  would 
shock  me  less." 

The  Captain  nodded. 

"  Before  daybreak,  my  friend  heard  the  back- 
door open  gently;  a  foot  ascended  the  stair— a 
key  grated  in  the  door  of  the  room  close  at  hand 
—the  father  glided  through  the  dark  into  that 
chamber  behind  his  unseen  son. 

"  He  heard  the  clink  of  the  tinder-box  ;  a  light 


was  struck  ;  it  spread  over  the  room,  but  he  had 
time  to  place  himself  behind  the  window-curtain 
which  was  close  at  hand.  The  figure  before  him 
stood  a  moment  or  so  motionless,  and  seemed  to 
listen,  for  it  turned  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  its 
visage  covered  with  the  black  hideous  mask  which 
is  worn  in  carnivals.  Slowly  the  mask  was 
removed  ;  could  that  be  his  son's  face  1  the  son 
of  a  brave  man? — it  was  pale  and  ghastly  vnih 
scoundrel  fears ;  the  base  drops  stood  on  the 
brow;  the  eye  was  haggard  and  bloodshot.  He 
looked  as  a  coward  looks  when  death  stands 
before  him. 

"  The  youth  walked,  or  rather  skulked,  to  the 
secretaire,  unlocked  it,  opened  a  secret  drawer; 
placed  within  it  the  contents  of  his  pockets 
and  his  frightful  mask  :  the  father  approached 
softly,  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  saw  in  the 
drawer  the  pocket-book  embroidered  with  his 
friend's  name.  Meanwhile,  the  son  took  out  his 
pistols,  uncocked  them  cautiously,  and  was 
about  also  to  secrete  them  when  his  father 
arrested  his  arm.  'Robber,  the  use  of  these  is 
yet  to  come  ! ' 

"  The  son's  knees  knocked  together,  an  exclama- 
tion for  mercy  burst  from  his  lips ;  but  when, 
recovering  the  mere  shock  of  his  dastard  nerves, 
he  perceived  it  was  not  the  grip  of  some  hireling 
of  the  law,  but  a  father's  hand  that  had  clutched 
his  arm,  the  vile  audacity  which  knows  fear  only 
from  a  bodily  cause,  none  from  the  awe  of  shame, 
returned  to  him. 

"'Tush,  sir,'  he  said,  'waste  not  time  in 
reproaches,  for,  I  fear,  the  gens-d^armes  are  on  my 
track.  It  is  well  that  you  are  here  ;  you  can 
swear  that  I  have  spent  the  night  at  home. 
LTnhand  me,  old  man — I  have  these  witnesses  still 
to  secrete,'  and  he  pointed  to  the  garments  wet 
and  bedabbled  with  the  mud  of  the  roads.  He 
had  scarcely  spoken  when  the  walls  shook  ;  there 
was  the  heavy  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  ringing  pave- 
ment without. 

'"They  come!'  cried  the  son.  'Off,  dotard! 
save  your  son  froni  the  galleys.' 

"'The  galleys,  the  galleys  !'  said  the  father, 
staggering  back  ;  'it  is  time  ' — he  said — '  the 
galleys.' " 

"  There  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  gate.  The 
gens-d'armes  surrounded  the  house.  '  Open,  in 
the  name  of  the  law.'  No  answer  came,  no  door 
was  opened.  Some  of  the  gens-d'armes  rode  to  the 
rear  of  the  house,  in  which  was  placed  the  stable- 
yard.  From  the  window  of  the  son's  room,  the 
father  saw  the  sudden  blaze  of  torches,  the 
shadowy  form  of  the  men-hunters.  He  heard  the 
clatter  of  arms  as  they  swung  themselves  from 
their  horses.  He  heard  a  voice  cry,  '  Yes,'  this  is 
the  robber's  grey  horse — see,  it  still  reeks  with 
sweat ! '  And  behind  and  in  front,  at  either  door, 


.i28 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


again  came  the  knocking,  and  again  the  shout, 
'  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  law.' 

"  Then  lights  began  to  gleam  from  the  casements 
of  the  neighbouring  houses ;  then  the  space 
filled  rapidly  with  curious  wonderers  startled 
from  their  sleep  ;  the  world  was  astir,  and  the 
crowd  came  round  to  know  Avhat  crime  or  what 
shame  had  entered  the  old  soldier's  home. 

"Suddenly,  within,  there  was  heard  the  re- 
port of  a  fire-arm ;  and  a  minute  or  so  after- 
wards the  front  door  was  opened,  and  the  soldier 
appeared. 


the  deep  scar  on  his  visage,  and  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour  on  his  breast ;  and  when  he 
had  told  his  tale,  he  ended  with  these  words — 
'  I  have  saved  the  son  whom  I  reared  for  France 
from  a  doom  that  would  have  spared  the  life 
to  brand  it  with  disgrace.  Is  this  a  crime  1  I 
give  you  my  life  in  exchange  for  my  son's  dis- 
grace. Does  my  country  need  a  victim  ?  I 
have  lived  for  my  country's  glory,  and  I  can 
die  contented  to  satisfy  its  laws ;  sure  that,  if 
you  blame  me,  you  will  not  despise ;  sure  that 
the  hands  that  give   me  to  the  headsman   will 


"  The  father  approached  softlt."     {Draucn  by  W.  H.  Overend.) 


■"Enter,'  he  said  to  the  gens-cTarrnes :  'what 
would  you  1 ' 

'"We  seek  a  robber  who  is  within  your  walls.' 

" '  I  know  it ;  mount  and  find  him  :  I  will  lead 
the  way.' 

"  He  ascended  the  stairs,  he  threw  open  his  son's 
room  ;  the  officers  of  justice  poured  in,  and  on  the 
tloor  lay  the  robber's  corpse. 

"They  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 
'Take  what  is  left  you,'  said  the  father.  'Take 
the  dead  man  rescued  from  the  galleys  ;  take  the 
living  man  on  whose  hands  rests  the  dead  man's 
blood  ! ' 

"I  was  present  at  my  friend's  trial.  The  facts 
had  become  known  beforehand.  He  stood  there 
with  his  grey  hair,  and  his  mutilated  limbs,  and 


scatter  flowers  over  my  grave.  Thus  I  confess 
alL  I,  a  soldier,  look  round  among  a  nation  of 
soldiers ;  and  in  the  name  of  tke  star  which 
glitters  on  my  breast,  I  dare  the  Fathers  of 
France  to  condemn  me  ! ' 

"  They  acquitted  the  soldier — at  least  they  gave 
a  verdict  answering  to  what  in  ovir  courts  is 
called  'justifiable  homicide.'  A  shout  rose  in  the 
court  which  no  ceremonial  voice  could  still ;  the 
crowd  would  have  borne  him  in  triumph  to  his 
house,  but  his  look  repelled  such  vanities.  To 
his  house  he  returned  indeed,  and  the  day  after- 
wards they  found  him  dead,  beside  the  cradle  in 
which  his  first  i)rayer  had  been  breathed  over  his 
sinless  child.  Now,  father  and  son,  I  ask  you,  do 
you  condemn  that  man  ] " 


THE    TRIAL.     (Drawn  hj  W.  H.  Overend.) 


"Mr    nycLF.   kolaxds   tale"  {p.  us). 


BEVIS   AT   HOME 


129 


BEVIS    AT    HOME. 

[From  'Wood  Magic."     By  Eichasd  Jefferies.] 


O  sooner  was 
Bevis  released 
from  the  dinner- 
table,  than  he 
was  down  on  his 
knees  at  his  own 
particular  corner 
cupboard,  the 
one  that  had 
been  set  apart 
for  his  toys  and 
things  ever  since 
he  could  walk. 
It  was  but  a 
small  cupboard, 
made  across  the  angle  of  two  walls,  and  with  one 
shelf  only,  yet  it  was  bottomless,  and  always  con- 
tained something  new. 

There  were  the  last  fragments  of  the  great  box 
of  wooden  bricks,  cut  and  chipped,  and  notched 
and  splintered  by  that  treasure,  his  pocket-knife. 
There  was  the  tin  box  for  the  paste,  or  the  worms 
in  moss,  when  he  went  fishing.  There  was  the 
wheel  of  his  old  wheelbarrow,  long  since  smashed 
and  numbered  with  the  Noah's  arks  that  have  gone 
the  usual  way.  There  was  the  brazen  cylinder  of 
a  miniature  steam-engine  bent  out  of  all  shape. 
There  was  the  hammer-head  made  specially  for  him 
by  the  blacksmith  down  in  the  village,  without  a 
handle,  for  people  were  tired  of  putting  new 
handles  to  it,  he  broke  them  so  quickly.  There 
was  a  horse-shoe,  and  the  iron  catch  of  a  gate,  and 
besides  these  a  boxwood  top,  which  he  could  not 
spin,  but  which  he  had  paid  away  half  the  savings 
in  his  money-box  for,  because  he  had  seen  it  split 
the  other  boys'  tops  in  the  road. 

In  one  corner  was  a  brass  cannon,  the  touch-hole 
blackened  by  the  explosion  of  gunpowder,  and  by 
it  the  lock  of  an  ancient  pistol — the  lock  only, 
and  neither  barrel  nor  handle.  An  old  hunting 
crop,  some  feathers  from  pheasants'  tails,  part 
of  a  mole-trap,  an  old  brazen  bugle,  much  bat- 
tered, a  wooden  fig-box  full  of  rusty  nails,  several 
scraps  of  deal  board,  and  stumps  of  cedar  pencil 
were  heaped  together  in  confusion.  But  these 
were  not  all,  nor  could  any  written  inventory 
exhaust  the  contents,  and  give  a  perfect  list  of  all 
that  cupboard  held.  There  was  always  something 
new  in  it :  Bevis  never  went  there,  but  he  found 
something. 

With  the  hunting  crop  he  followed  the  harriers 
and  chased  the  doubling  hare  :  with  the  cannon  he 
fought  battles,  such  as  he  saw  in  the  pictures ;  the 


bugle,  too,  sounded  the  charge  (the  Bailiff  some- 
times blew  it  in  the  garden  to  please  him,  and  the 
hollow  "  who-oo  ! "  it  made  echoed  over  the  fields) ; 
with  the  deal  boards  and  the  rusty  nails,  and  the 
hammer-head,  he  built  houses,  and  even  cities. 
The  jagged  and  splintered  wooden  bricks,  six 
inches  long,  were  not  bricks,  but  great  beams  and 
baulks  of  timber  ;  the  wheel  of  the  wheelbarrow 
was  the  centre  of  many  curious  pieces  of  mecha- 
nism. He  could  see  these  things  easily.  So  he 
sat  down  at  his  cupboard  and  forgot  the  lecture 
instantly ;  the  pout  disappeared  from  his  lips  as 
he  plunged  his  hand  into  the  inexhaustible  cup- 
board. 

"  Bevis,  dear,"  he  heard  presently,  "  you  may 
have  an  apple." 

Instantly,  and  without  staying  to  shut  the  door 
on  his  treasures,  he  darted  up  stairs  —  up  twc* 
flights,  with  a  clatter  and  a  bang,  burst  open  the 
door,  and  was  in  the  apple-room.  It  was  a  large 
garret  or  attic,  running  half  the  length  of  the 
house,  and  there,  in  the  autumn,  the  best  apples 
from  the  orchard  were  carried,  and  put  on  a  thin 
layer  of  hay,  each  apple  apart  from  its  fellow  (for 
they  ought  not  to  touch),  and  each  particular  sort, 
the  Blenheim  Oranges  and  the  King  Pippins,  the 
Creepers  and  the  Grindstone  Pippins  (which  grew 
nowhere  else),  divided  from  the  next  sort  by  a  little 
fence  of  hay. 

The  most  of  them  were  gone  now,  only  a 
few  of  the  keeping  apples  remained,  and  from 
these  Bevis,  with  great  deliberation,  chose  the 
biggest,  measuring  them  by  the  eye  and  weighing 
them  in  his  hand.  Then  down-stairs  again  with 
a  clatter  and  a  bang,  down  the  second  stairs  this 
time,  past  the  gun-room,  where  the  tools  were 
kept,  and  a  carpenter's  bench ;  then  through 
the  whole  length  of  the  ground  floor  from  the 
kitchen  to  the  parlour,  slamming  every  door 
behind  him,  and  kicking  over  the  chairs  in  front 
of  him. 

There  he  stayed  half  a  minute  to  look  at  the 
hornet's  nest  under  the  glass  case  on  the  mantel- 
piece. The  comb  was  built  round  a  central  pillar 
or  column,  three  storeys  one  above  the  other,  and  it 
had  been  taken  from  the  willow  tree  by  the  brook, 
the  huge  hollow  willow  which  he  had  twice  tried 
to  chop  down,  that  he  might  make  a  boat  of  it. 
Then  out  of  doors  and  up  the  yard,  and  past  the 
cart-house,  when  something  moved  in  the  long 
grass  under  the  wall.  It  was  a  Weasel,  caught  in 
a  gin. 

The  trap  had  been  set  by  the  side  of  a  drain  for 


130 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


rats,  and  the  Weasel  coining  out,  or  perhaps 
frightened  by  footsteps,  and  hastening  carelessly, 
had  been  trapped.  Bevis,  biting  his  apple,  looked 
at  the  Weasel,  and  the  Weasel  said,  "  Sir  Bevis, 
please  let  me  out,  this  gin  hurts  me  so ;  the 
teeth  are  very  sharp  and  the  spring,  is  very 
strong,  and  the  tar-cord  is  very  stout,  so  that  I 
cannot  break  it.  See  how  the  iron  has  skinned 
my  leg  and  taken  off  the  fur ;  and  I  am  in  such 
pain.  Do  please  let  me  go,  before  the  ploughboy 
comes,  or  he  will  hit  me  with  a  stick,  or  smash  me 
with  a  stone,  or  put  his  iron-shod  heel  on  me  ;  and 
I  have  been  a  very  good  weasel,  Bevis.  I  have 
been  catching  the  horrid  rats  that  eat  the  barley- 
meal  put  for  the  pigs.  Oh,  let  me  out,  the  gin 
hurts  me  so  ! " 

Bevis  put  his  foot  on  the  spring,  and  was 
pressing  it  down,  and  the  Weasel  thought  he  was 
already  free,  and  looked  across  at  the  wood  pile 
lander  which  he  meant  to  hide,  when  Bevis  heard 
a  little  squeak  close  to  liis  head,  and  looked  up 
and  saw  a  Mouse  under  the  eaves  of  the  cart- 
house,  peeping  forth  from  a  tiny  crevice,  where  the 
mortar  had  fallen  from  between  the  stones  of  the 
wall. 

"  Bevis,  Bevis  ! "  said  the  Mouse,  "  don't  you  do 
it— don't  you  let  that  Weasel  go  !  He  is  a  most 
dreadful  wicked  weasel,  and  his  teeth  are  ever  so 
much  sharper  than  that  gin.  He  does  not  kill  the 
rats,  because  he  is  afraid  of  them  (unless  he  can 
assassinate  one  in  his  sleep),  but  he  murdered  my 
wife  and  sucked  her  blood,  and  her  body,  all  drj' 
and  withered,  is  up  in  the  beam  there,  if  you  "wnll 
get  a  ladder  and  look.  And  he  killed  all  my  little 
mouses,  and  made  me  very  unhappy,  and  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  get  another  wife  to  live  with  me 
in  this  cart-house  while  he  is  about.  There  is  no 
way  we  can  get  away  from  him.  If  we  go  out 
into  the  field  he  follows  us  there,  and  if  we  go  into 
the  sheds  he  comes  after  us  there,  and  he  is  a  cruel 
beast,  that  wicked  weasel.  You  know  you  ate  the 
partridge's  eggs,"'  added  the  Mouse,  speaking  to  the 
Weasel 

^'  It  is  aU  false,"  said  the  Weasel.  "  But  it  is 
true  that  you  ate  the  wheat  out  of  the  ears  in  the 
wheat-rick,  and  you  know  what  was  the  conse- 
quence. If  that  little  bit  of  wheat  you  ate  had  been 
.threshed,  and  ground,  and  baked,  and  made  into 
ibread,  then  that  poor  girl  would  have  had  a  crust  to 
*at,  and  would  not  have  jumped  into  the  river,  and 
.she  would  have  had  a  son,  and  he  would  have  been 
a  great  man  and  fought  battles,  just  as  Bevis  does 
with  his  brazen  cannon,  and  won  great  victories, 
.and  been  the  pride  of  all  the  nation.  But  you  ate 
those  particular  grains  of  wheat  that  were  meant 
to  do  all  this,  you  wicked  little  mouse.  Besides 
which,  you  ran  across  the  bed  one  night,  and 
frightened  Be  vis's  mother." 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  to,"  said  the  Mouse ;  "  and 


you  did  mean  to  kill  my  wife,  and  you  ate  the  par 
tridge's  eggs." 

"  And  a  very  good  thing  I  did,"  said  the  Weasel. 
"  Do  you  know  what  would  have  happened,  if  I  had 
not  taken  them  1  I  did  it  all  for  good,  and  with 
the  best  intentions.  For  if  I  had  left  the  eggs  one 
more  day,  there  was  a  man  who  nieaut  to  have 
stolen  them  all  but  one,  which  he  meant  to  have 
left  to  deceive  the  keeper.  If  he  had  stolen  them, 
he  would  have  been  caught,  for  the  keeper  was 
watching  for  him  all  the  time,  and  he  would  have 
been  put  to  prison,  and  his  children  would  have 
been  hungry.  So  I  ate  the  eggs,  and  especially  I 
ate  every  bit  of  the  one  the  man  meant  to  have 
left." 

"  And  why  were  you  l  o  i)articular  about  eating 
that  egg  1 "  asked  Bevis. 

"Because,"  said  the  Weasel,  "if  that  egg  had 
come  to  a  partridge  chick,  and  the  chick  had  lived 
till  the  shooting-time  came,  then  the  sportsman 
and  his  brother,  when  they  came  round,  would 
have  started  it  out  of  the  stubble,  and  the  shot 
from  the  gun  of  the  younger  would  have  acci- 
dentally killed  the  elder,  and  people  would  have 
thought  it  was  done  to  murder  him  for  the  sake 
of  the  inheritance." 

"  Now,  is  this  true  ?  "  said  Bevis. 

"  Yes,  that  it  is ;  and  I  killed  the  mouse's  wife 
also  for  the  best  of  reasons." 

"  You  horrid  wretch !  "  cried  the  Mouse. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  call  me  a  wretch,"  said  the 
Weasel ;  "  1  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  grateful  to 
me,  for  your  wife  was  very  jealous  because  you 
paid  so  much  attention  to  the  Miss  Mouse  you 
want  to  marry  now,  and  in  the  night  she  meant  to 
have  gnawn  your  throat." 

"  And  you  frightened  my  mother,"  said  Bevis. 
"  by  running  across  her  bed  in  the  night ; "  and 
he  began  to  press  on  the  spring  of  the  gin. 

"  Yes,  that  he  did,"  said  the  Weasel,  overjoyed  ; 
"  and  he  made  a  hole  in  the  boards  of  the  floor, 
and  it  was  down  that  hole  that  the  half-sovereign 
rolled  and  was  lost,  and  the  poor  maid-servant 
sent  away  because  they  thought  she  had  stolen 
it." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  that  1 "  asked  Bevis. 

But  the  Mouse  was  quite  aghast  and  dumb- 
founded, and  began  to  think  that  it  was  he  after 
all  who  was  in  the  wrong,  so  that  for  the  moment 
he  could  not  speak.  Just  then  Bevis  caught  sight 
of  the  colt  that  had  come  up  beside  his  mother, 
the  cart  mare,  to  the  fence  ;  and  thinking  that  he 
would  go  and  try  and  stroke  the  pretty  creature, 
Bevis  started  forward,  forgetting  all  about  the 
Weasel  and  the  Mouse.  As  he  started,  he  pressed 
the  spring  down,  and  in  an  instant  the  Weasel  was 
out,  and  had  hobbled  across  to  the  wood  pile. 
When  the  Mouse  saw  this,  he  gave  a  little  squeak 
of  terror,  and  ran  back  to  his  hiding-place. 


POOR   MISS   FINCH. 


131 


POOE    MISS     FINCH. 


m 


[By  WiLKlE 

|i^^3[  WELL-FED  boy,  with   yellow   Saxon  | 

^J|g®  JP,    liair  ')  a  little  shabby  green  chaise  ;  and 

11^^^^   a  rough  brown   pony  —  these  objects 

,|L^ '       confronted  me  at  the  Lewes  Station.     I 

l\^    said  to  the  boy,  "  Are  you  Reverend  Finch's 

!Jb       servant  1 "    And  the  boy  answered,  "  I  be 

1        he." 

We  drove  through  the  town  —  a  hilly  town  of 
desolate  clean  houses.  No  living  creatures  visible 
behind  the  jealously-shut  windows.  No  living 
creatures  entering  or  departing  through  the  sad- 
coloured  closed  doors.  No  theatre ;  no  place  of 
amusement  except  an  empty  town-hall,  with  a  sad 
policeman  meditating  on  its  spruce  white  steps. 
No  customers  in  the  shops,  and  nobody  to  serve 
them  behind  the  counter,  even  if  they  had  turned 
up.  Here  and  there  on  the  pavements,  an  inhabi- 
tant with  a  capacity  for  staring,  and  (apparently) 
a  capacity  for  nothing  else.  I  said  to  Reverend 
Finch's  boy,  "Is  this  a  rich  place?"  Reverend 
Finch's  boy  brightened  and  answered,  "  That  it 
be  ! "  Good.  At  any  rate,  they  don't  enjoy  them- 
selves here,  the  infamous  rich  ! 

Leaving  this  town  of  unamused  citizens  immured 
in  domestic  tombs,  we  got  on  a  fine  high  road — still 
ascending — with  a  spacious  open  country  on  either 
side  of  it. 

A  spacious  open  country  is  a  country  soon  ex- 
hausted by  a  sight-seer's  eye.  I  have  learnt  from 
my  poor  Pratolungo  the  habit  of  searching  for  the 
political  convictions  of  my  fellow-creatiires,  when 
I  find  myself  in  contact  with  them  in  strange 
places.  Having  nothing  else  to  do,  I  searched 
Finch's  boy.  His  political  programme,  I  found  to 
be  : — As  much  meat  and  beer  as  I  can  contain, 
and  as  little  work  to  do  for  it  as  possible.  In 
return  for  this,  to  touch  my  hat  when  I  meet  the 
Squire,  and  to  be  content  with  the  station  to  which 
it  has  pleased  God  to  call  me.  Miserable  Finch's 
boy! 

We  reached  the  highest  point  of  the  road.  On 
our  right  hand,  the  ground  sloped  away  gently 
into  a  fertile  valley,  with  a  village  and  a  church  in 
it ;  and  beyond,  an  abominable  privileged  enclosure 
of  grass  and  trees  torn  from  the  community  by  a 
tyrant,  and  called  a  Park ;  with  the  palace  in 
which  this  enemy  of  mankind  caroused  and 
fattened,  standing  in  the  midst.  On  our  left 
hand  spread  the  open  country — a  magnificent 
prospect  of  grand  grassy  hills,  rolling  away  to  the 
horizon,  boimded  only  by  the  sky.  To  my  sur- 
prise Finch's  boy  descended;  took  the  pony  by 
the  head  ;  and  deliberately  led  him  off  the  high 
road,  and  on  to  the  wilderness  of  grassy  hills,  on 


Collins.] 

which  not  so  much  as  a  footpath  was  discernible 
anywhere,  far  or  near.  The  chaise  began  to  heave 
and  roll  like  a  ship  on  the  sea.  It  became 
necessary  to  hold  with  both  hands  to  keep  my 
place.  I  thought  first  of  my  luggage  —  then  of 
myself. 

"  How  much  is  there  of  this  % "  I  asked. 

"  Three  mile  on't,"  answered  Finch's  boy. 

I  insisted  on  stopping  the  ship — I  mean  the 
chaise — and  on  getting  out.  We  tied  my  luggage 
fast  with  a  rope;  and  then  we  went  on  again, 
the  boy  at  the  pony's  head  and  I  after  them  on 
foot. 

Ah,  what  a  walk  it  was  !  What  air  over  my 
head  ;  what  grass  under  my  feet  !  The  sweetness 
of  the  inner  land,  and  the  crisp  saltness  of  the 
distant  sea,  were  mixed  in  that  delicious  breeze. 
The  short  turf,  fi-a^rant  with  odorous  herbs,  rose 
and  fell  elastic,  underfoot.  The  mountain-piles  of~ 
white  cloud  moved  in  sublime  procession  along  the 
blue  field  of  heaven  overhead.  The  wild  growth 
of  prickly  bushes,  spread  in  great  patches  over  the 
grass,  was  in  a  glory  of  yellow  bloom.  On  we 
went ;  now  up,  now  down  ;  now  bending  to  the 
right,  and  now  turning  to  the  left.  I  looked 
about  me.  No  house  ;  no  road  ;  no  paths,  fences, 
hedges,  walls ;  no  land-marks  of  any  sort.  All 
round  us,  turn  which  way  we  might,  nothing  was 
to  be  seen  but  the  majestic  solitude  of  the  hills. 
No  living  creatures  appeared  but  the  white  dots 
of  sheep  scattered  over  the  soft  green  distance, 
and  the  skylark  singing  his  hymn  of  happiness,  a 
speck  above  my  head.  Truly  a  wonderful  place  I 
Distant  not  more  than  a  morning's  drive  from 
noisy  and  populous  Brighton — a  stranger  to  this 
neighbourhood  could  only  have  found  his  way  by 
the  compass,  exactly  as  if  he  had  been  sailing  on 
the  sea  !  The  farther  we  penetrated  on  our  land 
voyage,  the  more  wild  and  the  more  beautiful  the 
solitary  landscape  grew.  The  boy  picked  his  way 
as  he  chose — there  were  no  barriers  here.  Plod- 
ding behind,  I  saw  nothing,  at  one  time,  but  the 
back  of  the  chaise,  tilted  up  in  the  air,  both  pony 
and  boy  being  invisibly  buried  in  the  steep  descent 
of  the  hill.  At  other  times,  the  pitch  was  all  the 
contrary  way ;  the  whole  interior  of  the  ascending 
chaise  was  disclosed  to  my  view,  and  above  the 
chaise  the  pony,  and  above  the  pony  the  boy— 
and,  ah,  my  luggage  swaying  and  rocking  in  the 
frail  embraces  of  the  rope  that  held  it.  Twenty 
times  did  I  confidently  expect  to  see  baggage, 
chaise,  pony,  boy,  all  rolling  down  into  the  bottom 
of  a  valley  together.  But  no  !  Not  the  least 
little  accident  happened  to  spoil  my  enjoyment  cf 


132 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


the  day.  Politically  contemptible,  Finch's  boy  had 
his  merit — he  was  master  of  his  subject  as  guide 
and  pony-leader  among  the  South  Down  Hills. 

Arrived  at  the  top  of  (as  it  seemed  to  me)  our 
fiftieth  grassy  summit,  I  began  to  look  about  for 
signs  of  the  village. 

Behind  me,  rolled  back  the  long  undulations  of 
the  hills,  with  the  cloud-shadows  moving  over  the 
solitudes  that  we  had  left.  Before  me,  at  a  break 
in  the  purple  distance,  I  saw  the  soft  white  line  of 
the  sea.  Beneath  me,  at  my  feet,  opened  the 
deepest  valley  I  had  noticed  yet — with  one  first 
sign  of  the  presence  of  Man  scored  hideously  on 
the  face  of  Nature,  in  the  shape  of  a  square  brown 
patch  of  cleared  and  ploughed  land  on  the  grassy 
slope.  I  asked  if  we  were  getting  near  the  village 
now.  Finch's  boy  winked,  and  answered  "Yes, 
we  be." 

Astonishing  Finch's  boy!  Ask  him  what  ques- 
tions I  might,  the  resources,  of  his  vocabulary 
remained  invariably  the  same.  Still  this  youthful 
Oracle  answered  always  in  three  monosyllabic 
words ! 

We  plunged  into  the  valley. 

Arrived  at  the  bottom,  I  discovered  another  sign 
ef  Man.  Behold  the  first  road  I  had  seen  yet — a 
rough  waggon-road  ploughed  deep  in  the  chalky 
soil  !  We  crossed  this,  and  turned  a  corner  of  a 
hilL  More  signs  of  human  life.  Two  small  boys 
started*  up  out  of  a  dry  ditch — apparently  set  as 
scouts  to  give  notice  of  our  approach.  They  yelled, 
and  set  off  running  before  ua,  by  some  short  cut, 
known  only  to  themselves  We  turned  ag-ain, 
round  another  winding  of  the  valley,  and  crossed  a 
brook.  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  make  myself 
acquainted  with  the  local  names.  What  was  the 
brook  called?  It  was  called  "The  Cockshootl" 
And  the  great  hill,  here,  on  my  right  1 "  It  was 
called  "  The  Overblow ! "  Five  minutes  more,  and 
we  saw  our  first  house — lonely  and  little — built 
of  mortar  and  flint  from  the  hills.  A  name  to 
this  also  1  Certainly  !  Name  of  "  Browndown." 
Another  ten  minutes  of  walking  involving  us  more 
and  more  deeply  in  the  mysterious  green  windings 
of  the  valley— and  the  greatest  event  of  the  day 
happened  at  last.  Finch's  boy  pointed  before 
him  with  his  whip,  and  said  (even,  at  this  supreme 
moment,  still  in  three  monosyllabic  words)  : — 

"  Here  we  be  ! " 

So  this  is  Dimchurch  !  I  shake  out  the  chalk- 
dust  from  the  skirts  of  my  dress.  I  long  (quite 
vainly)  for  the  least  bit  of  looking-glass  to  see 
myself  in.  Here  is  the  population  (to  the  number 
of  at  least  five  or  six),  gathered  together,  informed 
by  the  scouts — and  it  is  my  woman's  business  to 
produce  the  best  impression  of  myself  that  I  can. 
We  advance  along  the  little  road.  I  smile  upon 
the  population.  The  population  stares  at  me  in 
return.     On  one  side,  I  remark    three    or    four 


cottages,  and  a  bit  of  open  ground  ;  also  an  inn 
named  "The  Cross-Hands,"  and  a  bit  more  of 
open  ground  ;  also  a  tiny,  tiny  butcher's-shop, 
with  sanguinary  insides  of  sheep  on  one  blue  pie- 
dish  in  the  window,  and  no  other  meat  than  that, 
and  nothing  to  see  beyond,  but  again  the  open 
ground,  and  again  the  hills  ;  indicating  the  end  of 
the  village  on  this  side.  On  the  other  side  there 
appears,  for  some  distance,  nothing  but  a  long 
flint  wall  guarding  the  outhouses  of  a  farm.  Be- 
yond this,  comes  another  little  group  of  cottages, 
with  the  seal  of  civilisation  set  on  them,  in  the 
"form  of  a  post-oflice.  The  post-office  deals  in 
general  commodities— in  boots  and  bacon,  biscuits 
and  flannel,  crinoline  petticoats  and  religious 
tracts.  Farther  on,  behold  another  flint  wall,  a 
garden,  and  a  private  dwelling-house,  proclaiming 
itself  as  the  rectory.  Farther  yet,  on  rising 
ground,  a  little  desolate  church,  with  a  tiny  white 
circular  steeple,  topped  by  an  extinguisher  in  red 
tiles.  Beyond  this,  the  hills  and  the  heavens  once 
more.     And  there  is  Dimchurch  ! 

As  for  the  inhabitants — what  am  I  to  say  1  I 
suppose  I  must  tell  the  truth. 

I  remarked  one  bom  gentleman  among  the 
inhabitants,  and  he  was  a  sheep-dog.  He  alone 
did  the  honours  of  the  place.  He  had  a  stump 
of  a  tail  which  he  wagged  at  me  with  extreme 
difficulty,  and  a  good  honest  white  and  black  face 
which  he  poked  companionably  into  my  hand. 
"  Welcome,  Madame  Pratolungo,  to  Dimchurch  ; 
and  excuse  these  male  and  female  labourers  who 
stand  and  stare  at  you.  The  good  God  who  makes 
us  all  has  made  them  too,  but  has  not  succeeded 
so  well  as  with  you  and  me."  I  happen  to  be  one 
of  the  few  people  who  can  read  dogs'  language  as 
written  in  dogs'  faces.  I  correctly  report  the 
language  of  t'e  gentleman-sheep-dog  on  this 
occasion. 

We  opened  the  gate  of  the  rectory,  and  passed 
in.  So  my  Land-voyage  over  the  South  Down 
Hills  came  prosperously  to  its  end. 

The  rectory  resembled,  in  one  respect,  this  narra- 
tive that  I  am  now  writing.  It  was  in  Two  Parts. 
Part  the  First,  in  front,  composed  of  the  everlast- 
ing flint  and  mortar  of  the  neighbourhood,  failed 
to  interest  me.  Part  the  Second,  running  back  at 
a  right  angle,  asserted  itself  as  ancient.  It  had 
been  in  its  time,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  a  convent 
of  nuns.  Here,  were  snug  little  Gothic  windows, 
and  dark  ivy-covered  walls  of  venerable  stone ; 
repaired  in  places,  at  some  past  period,  with  quaint 
red  bricks.  I  had  hoped  that  I  should  enter  the 
house  by  this  side  of  it.  But  no.  The  boy — after 
a^jpearing  to  be  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  me — led 
the  way  to  a  door  on  the  modern  side  of  the 
building,  and  rang  the  belL 

A  slovenly  young  maid-servant  admitted  me  to 
the  house . 


POOR   MISS   FINCH. 


lo3 


Possibly,  this  person  was  new  to  the  duty  of 
receiving  visitors.  Possibly,  she  was  bewildered 
by  a  sudden  invasion  of  children  in  dirty  frocks, 
darting  out  on  us  in  the  hall,  and  then  darting 
back  again  into  invisible  back  regions,  screeching 
at  the  sight  of  a  stranger.  At  any  rate,  she  too 
appeared  to  be  at  a  loss  what  to  do  with  me.  After 
staring  hard  at  my  foreign  face,  she  suddenly 
opened  a  door  in  the  wall  of  the  passage,  and  ad- 
mitted me  into  a  small  room.  Two  more  children 
in    dirty  frocks    darted,   screaming,    out  of    the 


up  the  stairs— one  of  them  in  possession  of  my 
card,  and  waving  it  in  triumph  on  the  first  landing. 
We  penetrated  to  the  other  end  of  the  passage. 
Again  a  door  was  opened.  Unannounced,  I  en- 
tered another  and  a  larger  room.    What  did  I  see  1 

Fortune  had  favoured  me  at  last.  My  lucky 
star  had  led  me  to  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

I  made  my  best  curtsey,  and  found  myself  con- 
fronting a  large,  light-haired,  languid,  lymphatic 
lady,  who  had  evidently  been  amusing  herself  by 
walking  up  and  down  the  room  at   the  moment 


■  New  to  the  duty  of  receiving  visitols. 


asylum  thus  offered  to  me.  I  mentioned  my  name, 
as  soon  as  I  could  make  myself  heard.  The  maid 
appeared  to  be  terrified  at  the  length  of  it.  I  gave 
her  my  card.  The  maid  took  it  between  a  dirty 
finger  and  thumb — looked  at  it  as  if  it  was  some 
extraordinary  natural  curiosity — turned  it  round, 
exhibiting  correct  black  impressions  in  various 
parts  of  it  of  her  finger  and  thumb— gave  iip  un- 
derstanding it  in  despair,  and  left  the  room.  She 
was  stopped  outside  (as  I  gathered  from  the  sounds) 
by  a  returning  invasion  of  children  in  the  hall. 
There  was  whispering ;  there  was  giggling ;  there 
was,  every  now  and  then,  a  loud  thump  on  the  door. 
Prompted  by  the  children,  as  I  suppose — pushed  in 
by  them  certainly — the  maid  suddenly  reappeared 
with  a  jerk  "  Oh,  if  you  please,  come  this  way," 
she  said.     The  invasion  of  children  retreated  again 


when  I  appeared.  If  there  can  be  such  a  thing  as 
a  damp  woman— this  was  one.  There  was  a 
humid  shine  on  her  colourless  white  face,  and  an 
overflow  of  water  in  her  pale  blue  eyes.  Her 
hair  was  not  dressed  ;  and  her  lace  cap  was  all  on 
one  side.  The  upper  part  of  her  was  clothed  in  a 
loose  jacket  of  blue  merino  ;  the  lower  part  was 
robed  in  a  dimity  dressing-gown  of  doubtful 
white.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  dirty  dog's-eared 
book,  which  I  at  once  detected  to  be  a  Circulating 
Library  novel.  Her  other  hand  supported  a  baby 
enveloped  in  flannel,  sucking  at  her  breast.  Such 
was  my  first  experience  of  Keverend  Finch's 
Wife— destined  to  be  also  the  experience  of  all 
after-time.  Never  completely  dressed;  never 
completely  dry ;  always  with  a  baby  in  one  hand 
and  a  novel  in  the  other— such  was  Finch's  wife  ! 


134 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  Ohl  Madame  Pi-atolungo  ]  Yes.  I  hope  some- 
body has  told  Miss  Finch  you  are  here.  She  has 
her  own  establishment,  and  manages  everything 
herself.  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  journey  1 " 
(These  words  were  spoken  vacantly,  as  if  her 
mind  was  occupied  with  something  else.  My  first 
impression  of  her  suggested  that  she  was  a  weak, 
good-natured  woman,  and  that  she  must  have 
originally  occupied  a  station  in  the  humbler  ranks 
of  life.) 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Finch,"  I  said.  "I  have 
enjoyed  most  heartily  my  journey  among  your 
beautiful  hills." 

"  Oh  1  you  like  the  hills  1  Excuse  my  dress.  I 
was  half  an  hour  late  this  morning.  When  you 
lose  half  an  hour  in  this  house,  you  never  can 
pick  it  up  again,  try  how  you  may."  (I  soon 
discovered  that  Mrs.  Finch  was  always  losing  half 
an  hour  out  of  her  day,  and  that  she  never,  by  any 
chance,  succeeded  in  finding  it  again,  as  she  had 
just  told  me.) 

"  I  understand,  madam.  The  cares  of  a  numerous 
family " 

"Ah!  that's  just  where  it  is."  (This  was  a  favourite 
phrase  of  ]\Irs.  Finch.)  "  There's  Finch,  he  gets  up 
in  the  morning  and  goes  and  works  in  the  garden. 
Then  there's  the  washing  of  the  children  ;  and  the 
dreadful  waste  that  goes  on  in  the  kitchen.  And 
Finch,  he  comes  in  without  any  notice,  and  wants 
his  breakfast.  And  of  course  I  can't  leave  the 
baby.  And  half  an  hour  does  slip  away  so  easily, 
that  how  to  overtake  it  again,  I  do  a.ss\xre  you  I 
really  don't  know."  Here  the  baby  began  to 
exhibit  symptoms  of  having  taken  more  maternal 
nourishment  than  his  infant  stomach  could 
comfortably  contain.  I  held  the  novel  while 
Mrs.  Finch  searched  for  her  handkerchief — first 
in  her  bedgown  pocket :  secondly,  here,  there,  and 
everywhere  in  the  room. 

At  this  interesting  moment  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door.  An  elderly  woman  appeared,  who 
oflfered  a  most  refreshing  contrast  to  the  members 
of  the  household  with  whom  I  had  made  ac- 
quaintance thus  far.  She  was  neatly  dressed ;  and 
she  saluted  me  with  the  polite  composure  of  a 
civilised  being. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am,  my  young  lady  has 
only  this  moment  heard  of  your  arrival.  Will  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  follow  me  1 " 

I  turned  to  Mrs.  Finch.  She  had  found  her 
handkerchief,  and  had  put  her  overflowing  baby 
to  rights  again.  I  respectfully  handed  "back  the 
novel.  "Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Finch.  "I  find 
novels  compose  my  mind.  Do  you  read  novels 
too?  Remind  me — and  I'll  lend  you  this  one  to- 
morrow." I  expressed  my  acknowledgments,  and 
withdrew.  At  the  door,  I  looked  round,  saluting 
the  lady  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Finch  was  pro- 
menading the  room,  with  the  baby  in  one  hand 


and  the  novel  in  the  other,  and  the  dimity  bed- 
gown trailing  behind  her. 

We  ascended  the  stairs,  and  entered  a  bare 
white-washed  passage,  with  drab-coloured  doors 
in  it,  leading,  as  I  presumed,  into  the  sleeping 
chambers  of  the  house. 

Every  door  opened  as  we  passed  ;  children 
peeped  out  at  me,  screamed  at  me,  and  banged 
the  door  to  again.  "  What  family  has  the  present 
Mrs.  Finch  1"  I  asked.  The  decent  elderly  woman 
was  obliged  to  stop  and  consider.  "  Including 
the  baby,  ma'am,  and  two  sets  of  twins,  and  one 
seven  months'  child  of  deficient  intellect — fourteen 
in  all."  Hearing  this,  I  began — though  I  consider 
priests,  kings,  and  capitalists  to  be  the  enemies  of 
the  human  race — to  feel  a  certain  exceptional 
interest  in  Reverend  Finch.  Did  he  never  wish 
that  he  had  been  a  priest  of  the  Rom.au  Catholic 
(^hurch,  mercifully  forbidden  to  rr>.arry  at  all? 
While  the  question  passed  through  my  mind,  my 
guide  took  out  a  key,  and  opened  a  heavy  oaken 
door  at  the  further  end  of  the  passage. 

"  We  are  obliged  to  keep  the  door  locked, 
ma'am,"  she  exclaimed,  "  or  the  children  would  be 
in  and  out  of  our  part  of  the  house  all  day  long." 

After  my  experience  of  the  children,  I  own  I 
looked  at  the  oaken  door  with  mingled  sentiments 
of  gratitude  and  respect. 

We  turned  a  corner,  and  found  ourselves  in  the 
vaulted  corridor  of  the  ancient  portion  of  the 
house. 

The  casement  windows,  on  one  side — sunk  deep 
in  recesses — looked  into  the  garden.  Each  recass 
was  filled  with  groups  of  flowers  in  pots.  On  the 
other  side,  the  old  wall  was  gaily  decorated  with 
hangings  of  bright  chintz.  The  doors  were 
coloured  of  a  creamy  white,  with  gilt  mouldings. 
The  brightly  ornamented  matting  under  our  feet 
I  at  once  recognised  as  of  South  American  origin. 
The  ceiling  above  was  de  orated  in  delicate  pale 
blue,  with  borderings  of  flowers.  Nowhere  down 
the  whole  extent  of  the  place  was  so  much  as  a 
single  morsel  of  dark  colour  to  be  seen  anywhere. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  corridor,  a  solitary 
figure  in  a  pure  white  robe  was  bending  over  the 
flowers  in  the  window.  This  was  the  blind  girl 
whose  dark  hours  I  had  come  to  cheer.  In  the 
scattered  villages  of  the  South  Downs,  the  simple 
people  added  their  word  of  pity  to  her  name,  and 
called  her  compassionately  "  Poor  Miss  Finch." 
As  for  me,  I  can  only  think  of  her  by  her 
pretty  Christian  name.  She  is  "  Lucilla "  when 
my  memory  dwells  on  her.  Let  me  call  her 
"Lucilla  "here. 

When  my  eyes  first  rested  on  her,  she  was 
picking  off  the  dead  leaves  from  her  flowers.  Her 
delicate  ear  detected  the  sound  of  my  strange 
footstep  long  before  I  reached  the  place  at  v^^hich 
she  was    standing.     She    lifted    her    head — and 


\ 


POUR   MISS   FINCH. 


135 


advanced  qxiickly  to  meet  nie  with  a  faint  flush 
on  her  face  which  came  and  died  away  again  in  a 
moment.  I  happened  to  have  visited  the  picture 
gallery  at  Dresden  in  former  years.  As  she 
approached  me,  nearer  and  nearer,  I  was  irre- 
sistibly reminded  of  the  gem  of  that  superb 
collection — the  matchless  virgin  of  Raphael,  called 
"The  Madonna  di  San  Sisto."  The  fair  broad 
forehead ;  the  peculiar  fulness  of  the  flesh  between 
the  eyebrow  and  the  eyelid  ;  the  delicate  outline  of 
the  lower  face ;  the  tender,  sensitive  lips ;  the 
coloiir  of  the  complexion  and  the  hair — all 
reflected,  with  a  startling  fidelity,  the  lovely 
creature  of  the  Dresden  picture.  The  one  fatal 
point  at  which  the  resemblance  ceased  was  in  the 
eyes.  The  divinely-beautiful  eyes  of  Raphael's 
Virgin  were  lost  in  the  living  likeness  of  her  that 
confronted  me  now.  There  was  no  deformity, 
there  was  nothing  to  recoil  from,  in  my  blind 
Lucilla.  The  poor,  dim,  sightless  eyes  had  a 
faded,  changeless,  inexpressive  look — and  that 
was  all.  Above  them,  below  them,  round  them  to 
the  very  edges  of  her  eyelids,  there  was  beauty, 
movement,  life.  In  them— death  !  A  more 
charming  creature — with  that  one  sad  drawback — 
I  never  saw.  There  was  no  other  personal  defect  in 
her.  She  had  the  tine  height,  the  well-balanced 
figure,  and  the  length  of  the  lower  limbs,  which 
make  all  a  woman's  movements  graceful  of  them- 
selves. Her  voice  was  delicious — clear,  cheerful, 
sympathetic.  This,  and  her  smile — which  added 
a  charm  of  its  own  to  the  beauty  of  her  mouth- 
won  my  heart,  before  she  had  got  close  enoiigh  to 
me  to  put  her  hand  in  mine.  "  Ah,  my  dear !  "  I 
said,  in  my  headlong  way,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you  !"  The  instant  the  words  passed  my  lips,  1 
could  have  cut  my  tongue  out  for  reminding  her 
in  that  brutal  manner  that  she  was  blind. 

To  my  relief,  she  showed  no  sign  of  feeling  it  as 
I  did.  "  May  I  see  you  in  my  way  % "  she  asked 
gently — and  held  up  her  pretty  white  hand.  "  May 
I  touch  your  face  % " 

I  sat  down  at  once  on  the  window-seat.  The 
soft  rosy  tips  of  her  fingers  seemed  to  cover  my 
whole  face  in  an  instant.  Three  separate  times 
she  passed  her  hand  rapidly  over  me,  her  own 
face  absorbed  all  the  while  in  breathless  attention 
to  what  she  was  about.  "  Speak  again  !  "  she  said 
suddenly,  holding  her  hand  over  me,  in  suspense. 
I  said  a  few  words.  She  stopped  me  by  a  kiss. 
"  No  more  ! "  she  exclaimed  joyously.  "  Your 
voice  says  to  my  ears  what  your  face  says  to  my 
fingers.  I  know  I  shall  like  you.  Come  in,  and 
see  the  rooms  we  are  going  to  live  in  together." 

As  I  rose,  she  put  her  arm  round  my  waist- 
then  instantly  drew  it  away  again,  and  shook  her 
fingers  impatiently  as  if  something  had  hurt 
them. 

"Apiur'Iasked. 


"  No  !  no  !  What  coloured  dress  have  you  got 
on  r'  ^ 

"  Purple." 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  it  !  Pray  don't  wear  dark  colours. 
I  have  my  own  blind  horror  of  anything  that  is 
dark.  Dear  Madame  Pratolungo,  wear  pretty 
bright  colours,  to  please  me  ./ "  She  put  her  arm 
caressingly  round  me  again— round  my  neck,  how- 
ever, this  time,  where  her  hand  could  rest  on  my 
linen  collar.  "  You  will  change  your  dress  before 
dinner— won't  you  %  "  she  whispered.  "  Let  me 
unpack  for  you,  and  choose  which  dress  I  like." 

The  brilliant  decorations  of  the  corridor  were 
explained  to  me  now  ! 

We  entered  the  rooms  ;  her  bed-room,  my  bed- 
room, and  our  sitting-room  between  the  two.  I 
v/as  prepared  to  find  them — what  they  proved  to  be 
— as  bright  as  looking-glasses,  and  gilding,  and 
gaily-coloured  ornaments,  and  cheerful  knick- 
knacks  of  all  sorts  could  make  them.  They  were 
more  like  rooms  in  my  lively  native  country  than 
rooms  in  sober  colourless  England.  The  on( 
thing  which,  I  own,  did  still  astonish  me,  was  that 
all  this  sparkling  beauty  of  adornment  in  Lucilla's 
habitation  should  have  been  provided  for  the 
express  gratification  >f  a  young  lady  who  could 
not  see.  Experience  was  yet  to  show  me  that  the 
blind  can  live  in  their  imaginations,  aiid  have  their 
favourite  fancies  and  illusions  like  the  rest  of  us. 

To  satisfy  Lucilla  by  changing  my  dark  purple 
dress,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  first  have 
my  boxes.  So  far  as  I  knew.  Finch's  boy  had 
taken  my  luggage,  along  with  the  pony,  to  the 
stables.  Before  Lucilla  could  ring  the  bell  to 
make  inquiries,  my  elderly  guide  (who  had 
silently  left  us  while  we  were  talking  together  in 
the  corridor)  reappeared,  followed  by  a  boy  and  a 
groom,  cari-ying  my  things.  These  servants  also 
brought  with  them  certain  parcels  for  their  young 
mistress,  purchased  in  the  town,  together  with  a 
bottle,  wrapped  in  fair  white  paper,  which  looked 
like  a  bottle  of  medicine — and  which  had  a  part  of 
its  own  to  play  in  our  proceedings  later  in  the 
day. 

"  This  is  my  old  nurse,"  said  Lucilla,  presenting 
her  attendant  to  me.  ''  Zillah  can  do  a  little  of 
everything — cooking  included.  She  has  had 
lessons  at  a  London  Club.  You  must  like  Zillah, 
Madame  Pratolungo,  for  my  sake.  Aie  your 
boxes  open  % " 

She  went  down  on  her  knees  before  the  boxes 
as  she  asked  the  question.  No  girl  with  the  full 
use  of  her  eyes  could  have  enjoyed  more  thoroughly 
than  she  did  the  trivial  amusement  of  unpacking 
my  clothes.  This  time,  however,  her  wonderful 
delicacy  of  touch  proved  to  be  at  fault.  Of  two 
dresses  of  mine  which  happened  to  be  exactly  the 
same  in  texture,  though  widely  different  in  colour, 
she  picked  out  the  dark  dress  as  being  the  light 


136 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


one.  I  saw  that  I  disappointed  her  sadly  when  I 
told  her  of  her  mistake.  The  next  guess  she  made, 
however,  restored  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  their 
place  in  her  estimation :  she  discovered  the  stripes 
in  a  smart  pair  of  stockings  of  mine,  and 
brightened  up  directly.  "  Don't  be  long  dressing,"' 
she  said,  on  leaving  me.  "  We  shall  have  dinner 
in  half  an  hour.     French  dishes,  in  honour  of 


your  arrival.  I  like  a  nice  dinner — I  am  what  you 
call  in  your  country  gourniande.  See  the  sad 
consequence  ! "  She  put  one  finger  to  her  pretty 
chin.  "  I  am  getting  fat ;  I  am  threatened  with 
a  double  chin — at  two-and  twenty.  Shocking  ! 
shocking  ! " 

So  she  left  me.    And  such  was  the  first  impres- 
sion produced  on  my  mind  by  "  Poor  Miss  Finch." 


CAPTAIN    EEECE. 


[By  W.  S.  Gilbert.] 


Y  all  the  ships  upon  the  blue, 

No  ship  contained  a  better  crew 
Than  that  of  worthy  Captain  Reece, 
Commanding  of  The  Mantelpiece. 

He  was  adored  by  all  his  men. 
For  worthy  Captain  Reece,  R.N., 
Did  all  that  lay  within  him  to 
Promote  the  comfort  of  his  crew. 

If  ever  they  were  dull  or  sad 
Their  captain  danced  to  them  like  mad. 
Or  told,  to  make  the  time  pass  by, 
Droll  legends  of  his  infancy. 

A  feather  bed  had  every  man, 
Warm  slippers  and  hot -water  can, 
Brown  Windsor  from  the  captain's  store, 
A  valet,  too,  to  every  four. 


Then  currant  wine  and  ginger  pops. 
Stood  handily  on  all  the  "tops," 
And  also,  with  amusement  rife, 
A  "Zoetrope,  or  Wheel  of  Life." 

New  volumes  came  across  the  sea 
From  Mister  Mudie's  libraree  ; 
Tlie  Times  and  Sattirday  Revieiv 
Beguiled  the  leisure  of  the  crew. 

Kind-hearted  Captain  Reece,  R.N. 
Was  quite  devoted  to  his  men  ; 
In  point  of  fact,  good  Captain  Reece, 
Beatified  The  Manteljnece. 

One  summer  eve,  at  half-past  ten, 
He  said  (addressing  all  his  men) : 
"  Come,  tell  me,  please,  what  I  can  do 
To  please  and  gratify  my  crew. 


Their  CiPiAiN  dakcec  to  them  like  mad."     (Drawi  bj  W.  EuhiO.,.) 


Did  they  with  thirst  in  summer  burn  ? 
Lo,  seltzogenes  at  every  turn, 
And  on  all  very  sultry  days 
Cream  ices  handed  round  on  trays. 


"  By  any  reasonable  plan 
I'll  make  you  happy,  if  I  can  ; 
My  own  convenience  count  as  nil ; 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will." 


CAPTAIN   REECE. 


137 


Then  up  and  answered  William  Lee, 
(The  kindly  captain's  coxswain  he, 
A  nervous,  shy,  low-spoken  man) 
He  cleared  his  throat  and  thus  began  : 


But  what  are  dukes  and  viscounts  to 
The  happiness  of  all  my  crew  ] 
The  word  I  gave  you  I'll  fulfil : 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will. 


'  The  captain  saw  the  dame  that  tat."     (Drami  by  W.  Ralstov.) 


"You  have  a  daughter,  Captain  Reece, 
Ten  female  cousins  and  a  niece, 
A  ma,  if  what  I'm  told  is  true. 
Six  sisters,  and  an  aunt  or  two.* 

"  Now,  somehow,  sir,  it  seems  to  me, 
More  friendly-like  we  all  should  be, 
If  you  united  of  'em  to 
Unmarried  membera  of  the  crew. 

"  If  you'd  ameliorate  our  life. 
Let  each  select  from  them  a  wife  ; 
And  as  for  nervous  me,  old  pal. 
Give  me  your  own  enchanting  gal ! " 

Good  Captain  Reece,  that  worthy  man. 
Debated  on  his  coxswain's  plan  : 
"  I  quite  agree,"  he  said,  "  O  Bill : 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will. 

"  My  daughter,  that  enchanting  gurl, 
Has  just  been  promised  to  an  earl, 
And  all  my  other  familee. 
To  peers  of  various  degree. 


*  There  seems  little  doubt  that  this  poem,  first  published 
many  years  ago,  provided  the  author  with  his  scheme  for  the 
opera  entitled  H.if.S.  Pinafore.  The  similarity  of  the  incidents 
will  strike  all  who  have  seen  Messrs.  Gilbert  and  Sullivan's 
joint  production. 


"  As  you  desire  it  shall  befall, 
I'll  settle  thousands  on  you  all. 
And  I  shall  be,  despite  my  hoard, 
The  only  bachelor  on  board. ' 

The  boatswain  of  The  Manteljyiece, 
He  blushed  and  spoke  to  Captain  Reece 
"  I  beg  your  honour's  leave,"  he  said, 
"  If  you  would  wish  to  go  and  wed, 

"  I  have  a  widowed  mother  who 
Would  be  the  very  thing  for  you — 
She  long  has  loved  you  from  afar, 
She  washes  for  you,  Captain  R." 

The  captain  saw  the  dame  that  day — 
Addressed  her  in  his  playful  way — 
"And  did  it  want  a  wedding  ringi 
It  was  a  tempting  ickle  sing  ! 

"  Well,  well,  the  chaplain  I  will  seek, 
We'll  all  be  married  this  day  week — 
At  yonder  church  upon  the  hill  • 
It  is  my  duty,  and  I  will  ! " 

The  sisters,  cousins,  aunts,  and  niece, 
And  widowed  ma  of  Captain  Reece 
Attended  there  as  they  were  bid  ; 
It  was  their  duty,  and  they  did. 


138 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR    AUTHORS. 


THE     TOWER    OF     LONDON. 

[By  William  Hepworth  Dixon.] 

•^^/ALF-A-MILE  below  London  Bridge, 


p  ground  wliich  was  once  a  bluff,  com- 
manding the  Thames  from  St.  Saviour's 
Creek  to  St.  Olave's  Wharf,  stands  the 
^^  group  of  buildings  known  in  our  common 
Y  speech  as  the  Tower  of  London,  in  official 
1  phrase  as  Her  Majesty's  Tower ;  a  mass  of 
»  rampai-ts,  walls,  and  gates  ;  the  most  ancient 
:ind  most  poetic  pile  in  Europe. 

Seen  from  the  hill  outside,  the  Tower  appears 
to  be  white  with  age  and  wrinkled  by  remorse. 
The  home  of  our  stoutest  kings,  the  grave  of  our 
noblest  knights,  the  scene  of  our  gayest  revels, 
the  field  of  our  darkest  crimes,  that  edifice  speaks 
at  once  to  the  eye  and  to  the  souL  Grey  keep, 
gi-een  tree,  black  gate,  and  frowning  battlement, 
stand  out,  apart  from  all  objects  far  and  near 
them,  menacing,  picturescjue,  enchaining  ;  working 
on  the  senses  like  a  spell ;  and  calling  us  away 
from  our  daily  mood  into  a  world  of  romance, 
like  that  which  we  find  painted  in  light  and 
shadow  on  Shakespeare's  page. 

Looking  at  the  Tower  as  either  a  prison,  a 
palace,  or  a  court, — picture,  poetry,  and  drama 
crowd  upon  the  mind ;  and  if  the  fancy  dwells 
most  frequently  on  the  state  prison,  this  is 
because  the  soul  is  more  readily  kindled  by  a 
human  interest  than  fired  by  an  archaic  and 
♦)rficial  fact.  For  one  man  who  would  care  to  see 
the  room  in  which  a  council  met  or  a  coiirt  was 
held,  a  hundred  men  would  like  to  see  the 
chamber  in  which  Lady  Jane  Grey  was  lodged, 
the  cell  in  which  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  wrote,  the 
tower  from  which  Sir  John  Oldcastle  escaped. 
Who  would  not  like  to  stand  for  a  moment  by 
those  steps  on  which  Ann  Boleyn  knelt ;  pause 
by  that  slit  in  the  wall  through  which  Arthur 
De  la  Pole  gazed  ;  and  linger,  if  he  could,  in  that 
room  in  which  Cranmer,  Latimer,  and  Ridley 
searched  the  New  Testament  together  ] 

****** 
Standing  on  Tower  Hill,  looking  down  on  the 
dark  lines  of  wall— picking  out  keep  and  turret, 
bastion  and  ballium,  chaj^el  and  belfry— the  jewel- 
house,  the  armoury,  the  mounts,  the  casements, 
the  open  leads— the  Bye-ward  Gate,  the  Belfry, 
the  Bloody  Tower — the  whole  edifice  seems  alive 
with  story ;  the  .story  of  a  nation's  highest 
splendour,  its  deepest  misery,  and  its  darkest 
shame.  The  soil  beneath  your  feet  is  richer  in 
blood  than  many  a  great  battle-field  ;  for  out 
upon  this  sofl  has  been  poured,  from  generation 
to  generation,  a  stream  of  the  noblest  life  in 
our  land.     Should  you  have  come  to  this  spot 


alone,  in  the  early  day,  when  the  Tower  is  noisy 
with  martial  doings,  you  may  haply  catch,  in 
the  hum  which  rises  from  the  ditch  and  issues 
from  the  wall  below  you — broken  by  roll  of  dnim, 
by  blast  of  bugle,  by  tramp  of  soldiers — some 
echoes,  as  it  were,  of  a  far-off  time ;  some  hints 

i  of  a  May-day  revel ;  of  a  state  execution  ;  of  a 

I  royal  entry.     You  may  catch  some  sound  which 

1  recalls  the  thrum  of  a  queen's  virginal,  the  cry  of 
a  victim  on  the  rack,  the  laughter  of  a  bridal  feast. 

I  For  all  these  sights  and  sounds — the  dance  of  love 
and  the  dance  of  death — are  part  of  that  giiy  and 
tragic  memory  which  clings  around  the  Tower. 

j      From   the   reign   of   Stephen   down   to  that  of 

■  Henry  of  Richmond,  Caesar's  Tower  (the  great 
Norman  keep,  now  called  the  White  Tower)  was  a 
main  part  of  the  royal  palace  ;  and  for  that  large 

,  interval  of  time  the  story  of  the  White  Tower  is 
in  some  sort  that  of  our  English  society  as  well 

;  as  of  our  English  kings.  Here  were  kept  the 
royal  wardrobe  and  the  royal  jewels  ;   and  hither 

;  came  with  their  goodly  wares,  the  tiremen,  the 
goldsmiths,  the  chasers  and  embroiderers,  from 
Flanders,  Italy,  and  Almaigne.  Close  l)y  Avere 
the  Mint,  the  lions'  dens,  the  old  archery-grounds, 
the  Court  of  King's  Bench,  the  C'ourt  of  Common 
Pleas,  the  queen's  gardens,  the  royal  baiKpieting 
hall ;  so  that  art  and  trade,  science  and  manners, 

;  literature  and  law,  sport  and  politics,  find  them- 

'  selves  equally  at  home. 

Two  great  architects  designed  the  main  parts 

1  of  the  Tower  :  Gundulf  the  Weeper  and  Henry 
the  Builder  ;  one  a  poor  Norman  monk,  the  other 
a  great  English  king. 

Gundulf,  a  Benedictine  friar,  had,  for  that  age, 
seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world  ;  for  he  had  not 
only  lived  in  Rouen  and  Caen,  but  had  travelled 
in  the  East.  Familiar  with  the  glories  of 
Saracenic  art,  no  less  than  with  the  Norman 
simplicities  of  Bee,  St.  Ouen,  and  St.  Etienne  ;  a 
pupil  of  Lanfranc,  a  friend  of  Anselm  ;  he  had 
been  employed  in  the  monastery  of  Bee  to 
marshal,  Avith  the  eye  of  an  artist,  all  the  i)ictorial 
ceremonies  of  his  church.  But  he  was  chiefly 
known  in  that  convent  as  a  weeper.  No  monk 
at  Bee  could  cry  so  often  and  so  much  as  Gundulf. 
He  could  weep  with  those  who  wept ;  nay,  he 
could  weep  with  those  who  sported  ;  for  his  tears 
welled  forth  from  what  seemed  to  be  an  unfailing 
source. 

As  the  price  of  his  exile  from  Bee,  Gundulf 
received  the  crozier  of  Rochester,  in  which  city 
he  rebuilt  the  cathedral,  and  perhaps  designed 
the  castle,  since  the  great  keep  on  the  Med  way 


THE   TOWER   OF   LONDON. 


139 


has  a  sister's  likeness  to  the  great  keep  on  the 
Thames.  His  works  in  London  were — the  White 
Tower ;  the  first  St.  Peter's  Church ;  and  the  okl 
barbican,  afterwards  known  as  the  Hall  Tower, 
and  now  used  as  the  jewel-house. 

The  cost  of  these  works  was  great ;  the  discon- 
tent caused  by  them  was  sore.  Ealph,  Bishop  of 
Durham,  the  able  and  rapacious  minister  who  had 
to  raise  the  money,  was  hated  and  reviled  by  the 
Commons  with  peculiar  bitterness  of  heart  and 
phrase.  He  was  called  Flambard,  or  Firebrand. 
He  was  represented  as  a  devouring  lion.  Still  the 
great  edifice  grew  up  ;  and  Gundulf,  who  lived  to 
the  age  of  fourscore,  saw  his  great  keep  completed 
from  basement  to  battlement. 

Henry  the  Third,  a  prince  of  epical  fancies,  as 
Corlfe,  Conway,  Beaumaris,  and  many  other  fine 
poems  in  stone  attest,  not  only  spent  much  of  his 
time  in  the  Tower,  but  much  of  his  money  in 
adding  to  its  strength  and  beauty.  Adam  de 
Lamburn  was  his  master  mason  ;  but  Henry  was 
his  own  chief  clerk  of  the  works.  The  Water 
Gate,  the  embanked  wharf,  the  Cradle  Tower,  the 
Lantern,  which  he  made  his  bedroom  and  private 
closet,  the  Galleyman  Tower,  and  the  first  wall, 
appear  to  have  been  his  gifts.  But  the  prince 
who  did  so  much  for  Westminster  Abbey,  not 
content  with  giving  stone  and  piles  to  the  home 
in  which  he  dwelt,  enriched  the  chambers  with 
frescoes  and  sculj^ture,  the  chapels  with  carving 
and  glass ;  making  St.  John's  Chapel  m  the 
White  Tower  splendid  with  saints,  St.  Peter's 
Church  on  the  Tower  Green  musical  with  bells. 
In  the  Hall  Tower,  from  which  a  passage  led 
through  the  great  hall  into  the  king's  bedroom  in 
the  Lantern,  he  built  a  tiny  chapel  for  his  private 
use — a  chapel  which  served  for  the  devotion  of 
his  successors  until  Henry  the  Sixth  was  stabbed 
to  death  before  the  cross.  Sparing  neither  skill 
nor  gold  to  make  the  great  fortress  worthy  of  his 
art,  he  sent  to  Purbeck  for  marble,  and  to  Caen 
for  stone.  The  dabs  of  lime,  the  spawls  of  flint, 
the  layers  of  brick,  which  deface  the  walls  and 
towers  in  too  many  places,  are  of  either  earlier  or 
later  times.  The  marble  shafts,  the  noble  groins, 
the  delicate  traceries,  are  Henry's  work.  Traitor's 
Gate,  one  of  the  noblest  arches  in  the  world,  was 
built  by  him  ;  in  short,  nearly  all  that  is  purest 
in  art  is  traceable  to  his  reign. 

Edward  the  First  may  be  added,  at  a  distance, 
to  the  list  of  builders.  In  his  reign  the  original 
church  of  St.  Peter  fell  into  ruin  ;  the  wrecks 
were  carted  away,  and  the  present  edifice  was 
built.  The  bill  of  costs  for  clearing  the  gi-ound 
is  still  extant  in  Fetter  Lane.  Twelve  men,  who 
were  paid  twopence  a  day  wages,  were  employed 
on  the  work  for  twenty  days.  The  cost  of  pulling 
down  the  old  chapel  was  forty-six  shillings  and 
eightpeuce  ;  that  of  digging  foundations  for  the 


new  chapel  forty  shillings.  That  chapel  has 
suffered  from  wardens  and  lieutenants  ;  yet  the 
shell  is  of  very  fine  Norman  work. 

From  the  days  of  Henry  the  Builder*  down  to 
those  of  Henry  of  Richmond,  the  Tower,  as  the 
strongest  place  in  the  south  of  England,  was  by 
turns  the  magnificent  home  and  the  miserable 
jail  of  all  our  princes.  Here  Richard  the  Second 
held  his  court,  and  gave  up  his  crown.  Here 
Henry  the  Sixth  was  murdered.  Here  the  Duke 
of  Clarence  was  drowned  in  wine.  Here  King 
Edward  and  the  Duke  of  York  were  slain  by 
the  command  of  Richard.  Here  Margaret  o\ 
Salisbury  was  hacked  into  pieces  on  the  block. 

Henry  of  Richmond  kept  his  royal  state  in  the 
Tower,  receiving  his  ambassadors,  counting  his 
angels,  making  presents  to  his  bride,  Elizabeth 
of  York.  Among  other  gifts  to  that  lady  on  her 
nuptial  day  was  a  royal  book  of  verse,  composed 
by  a  prisoner  in  the  keejj. 

Turning  through  a  sally-port  in  the  Bye-ward 
Gate,  you  cross  the  south  arm  of  the  ditch,  and 
come  out  on  the  wharf, — a  strip  of  strand  in  front 
of  the  fortress  won  from  the  river,  and  kept  in  its 
place  by  masonry  and  piles.  This  wharf,  the 
work  of  Henry  the  Builder,  is  one  of  the  wonders 
of  his  reign  ;  for  the  whole  strip  of  earth  had  to 
be  seized  from  the  Thames,  and  covered  from 
the  daily  ravage  of  its  tides.  At  this  bend  of 
the  river  the  scour  is  hard,  the  roll  enormous. 
Piles  had  to  be  driven  into  the  mud  and  silt ; 
rubble  had  to  be  thrown  in  between  these  piles  , 
and  then  the  whole  mass  united  with  fi'onts  and 
bars  of  stone.  All  Adam  de  Lamburn's  skill  was 
taxed  to  resist  the  weight  of  water,  yet  keep  the 
sluices  open  by  which  he  fed  the  ditch.  Most  of 
all  was  this  the  case  when  the  king  began  to 
build  a  new  barbican  athwart  the  sluice.  Tlu.r 
work,  of  which  the  proper  name  was  for  many 
ages  the  Water  Gate,  commands  the  only  outlet 
from  the  Tower  into  the  Thames  ;  spanning  the 
ditch  and  sweeping  the  wharf,  both  to  the  left  and 
right.  So  soon  as  the  wharf  was  taken  from  the 
river-bed,  this  work  became  essential  to  the  defen- 
sive line. 

London  folk  felt  none  of  the  king's  pride  in 
the  construction  of  this  great  wharf  and  barbican. 
In  fact,  these  works  were  in  the  last  degree 
unpopular,  and  on  news  of  any  mishap  occurring 
to  them  the  Commons  went  almost  mad  with  joy. 
Once  they  sent  to  the  king  a  formal  complaint 
against  these  works.  Henry  assured  his  people 
that  the  wharf  and  Water  Gate  would  not  harm 
their  city.  Still  the  citizens  felt  sore.  Then,  on 
St.  George's  night,  1240,  while  the  people  were  at 
prayer,  the  Water  Gate  and  wall  fell  down,  no 
man  knew  why.      No  doubt  the  tides  were  high 

*  Henry  the  Third. 


uo 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


that  spring,  and  the  soft  silt  of  the  river  gave  way 
beneath  the  wash.     Anyhow  they  fell. 

Henry,  too  great  a  builder  to  despair,  began 
again; ♦this  time  with  a  better  plan;  yet  on  the 
self-same  night  of  the  ensuing  year  his  barbican 
crashed  down  into  the  river,  one  mass  of  stones. 
A  monk  of  St.  Albans,  who  tells  the  tale,  asserts 
that  a  priest  who  was  passing  near  the  fortress 
saw  the  spirit  of  an  archbishop,  dressed  in  his 
robes,  holding  a  cross,  and  attended  by  the  spirit 
of  a  clerk,  gazing  sternly  on  these  new  works. 
As  the  priest  came  up,  the  figure  spake  to  the 
masons,  "  Why  build  ye  these  ]  "  As  he  spoke, 
he  struck  the  walls  sharply  with  the  holy  cross, 
on  which  they  reeled  and  sank  into  the  river, 
leiving  a  wreath  of  smoke  behind.  The  priest 
was  too  much  scared  to  accost  the  more  potent 
spmt ;   but  ne  turned  to  the  humble  clerk,  and 


The  Toweb  of  London,  in  the  Time  of  Elizabeth. 

asked  him  the  archbishop's  name.  "St.  Thomas 
the  Martyr,"  said  the  shade.  The  priest,  growing 
bolder,  asked  him  why  the  Martyr  had  done  this 
deed?  "  St.  Thomas,"  said  the  spirit,  "by  birth  a 
citizen,  dislikes  these  works,  because  they  are 
raised  in  scorn  and  against  the  public  right.  For 
this  cause  he  has  thrown  them  down  beyond  the 
tyrant's  power  to  restore  them." 

But  the  shade  was  not  strong  enough  to  scare 

the  king.     Twelve  thousand  marks  had  been  spent 

on  that   heap   of  ruins  ;  yet  the   barbican  being 

necessary  to  his  wharf,  the  Builder,  on  the  morrow 

of  his  second  mishap,  was  again  at  work,  clearing 

away  the  rubbish,  driving  in  the  piles,  and  laying 

in  a  deeper  bed  tlie  foundation-stones.    This  time 

his  work  was  done  so  well  that  the  walls  of  his 

!  gateway  have  never  shrunk,  and  are  as  firm  to- 

I  day  as  the  earth  on  which  they  stand. 

1      The  ghost  informed  the   priest  that  the  two 

I  most  popular  saints  in  our  calendar,  the  Con- 

j  fessor  and  the  Martyr,  had  undertaken  to  make 

i  war  upon  these  walls.     "  Had  they  been  built," 

I  said  the  shade,  "  for  the  defence  of  London,  and 

i  in  order  to  find  food  for  masons  and  joiners,  they 


THE   TOWER   OF   LONDON. 


141 


might  have  been  borne  ;  but  they  are  built  against 
the  poor  citizens  ;  and  if  St.  Thomas  had  not 
destroyed  them,  the  Confessor  would  have  swept 
them  away." 

The  names  of  these  popular  saints  still  cling  to 
the  Water  Gate.  One  of  the  rooms,  fitted  up  as 
an  oratory,  and  having  a  piscina  still  perfect,  is 
called  the  Confessor's  Chapel ;  and  the  barbican 
itself,  instead  of  bearing  its  official  name  of  Water 
Gate,  is  only  known  as  St.  Thomas's  Tower. 

The  whole  wharf,  twelve  hundred  feet  in  length, 
lay  open  to  the  Thames,  except  a  patch  of  ground 
at  the  lower  end,  near  the  Iron  Gate,  leading 
towards  the  hospital  of  St.  Catharine  the 
Virgin,  where  a  few  sheds  and  magazines  were 
built  at  an  early  date.  Except  these  sheds,  the 
wharf  was  clear.  When  cannon  came  into  use, 
they  were  laid  along  the  ground,  as  well  as 
trained  on  the  walls  and  the  mural  towers. 

Three  ascents  marked,  as  it  were,  the  river  front 
— the  Queen's  Stair,  the  Water  Way,  and  the 
Galleyman  Stair.  The  Queen's  Stair,  the  landing- 
place  of  royal  princes,  and  of  such  great  persons 
as  came  to  the  Tower  on  state  affairs,  lay  beneath 
the  Bye-ward  Gate  and  the  Belfry,  having  a 
passage  into  the  fortress  by  a  bridge  and  postern, 
through  the  Bye-ward  Tower  into  Water  Lane. 
The  Water  Way  was  that  cutting  through  ,the 
bank  which  passed  vmder  St.  Thomas's  Tower 
to  the  flight  of  steps  in  Water  Lane  ;  the  entrance 
popularly  known  as  Traitor's  Gate.  The  Galley- 
man  Stair  lay  under  the  Cradle  Tower,  by  which 
there  was  a  private  entrance  into  the  royal  quarter. 
This  stair  was  not  much  used,  except  when  the 
services  of  Traitor's  Gate  were  out  of  order.  Then 
prisoners  who  could  not  enter  by  the  approach 
of  honour  were  landed   at  the  Galleyman  Stair. 

Lying  open  to  the  river  and  to  the  streets, 
the  wharf  was  a  promenade,  a  place  of  traffic 
and  of  recreation,  to  which  folk  resorted  on 
high  days  and  fair  days.  Men  who  loved 
sights  were  pretty  sure  to  find  something 


worth  seeing  at  either  the  Queen's  Stair  or  Traitor's 
Gate.  All  personages  coming  to  the  Tower  in 
hen  :.ur  wei-e  landed  at  the  Queen's  Stair ;  all  per- 
sonages coming  in  disgrace  were  pushed  through  the 
Traitor's  Gate.  Now  a  royal  barge,  vnth  a  queen  on 
board,  was  going  forth  in  her  bravery  of  gold  and 
pennons  ;  now  a  lieutenant's  boat,  returning  with 
a  culprit  in  the  stern,  a  headsman  standing  at  his 
side,  holding  in  his  hand  the  fatal  axe. 

htmding  on  the  bank,  now  busy  with  a  new 
life,  these  pictures  of  an  old  time  start  into  being 
like  a  mystic  writing  on  the  wall.  Two  of  these 
scenes  come  back  with  warm  rich  colouring  to 
the  inner  eye. 

Now  : — it  is  London  in  the  reign  of  that  Henry 
the  Builder,  who  loved  to  adorn  the  fortress  in 
which  he  dwelt.  Whose  barge  is  moored  at  yon 
stair,  with  the  royal  arms  1  What  men  are  those 
with  tabard  and  clarion  1  Who  is  that  proud  and 
beautiful  woman,  her  fair  face  fired  with  rage, 
who  steps  into  her  galley,  but  whose  foot  appears 
to  scorn  the  plank  on  which  it  treads  1  She  is 
the  queen  ;  wife  of  the  great  builder ;  Elinor 
of  Provence,  called  by  her  minstrels  Elinor  la 
Belle.  A  poetess,  a  friend  of  singers,  a  lover  of 
music,  she  is  said  to  have  brought  song  and  art 
into  the  English  court  from  her  native  land.  The 
first  of  our  laureates  came  in  her  train.  She  has 
flushed  the  palace  with  jest  and  joust,  with  tinkle 
of  citherns,  with  clang  of  horns.  But  the  queen 
has  faults,  for  which  her  gracious  talent  and  her 
l)eerless  beauty  fail  to  atone.  Her  greed  is  high, 
her  anger  ruthless.  Her  court  is  filled  with  an 
outcry  of  merchants  who  have  been  mulcted  of 
queen-geld,  a  wrangle  of  friars  who  have  been 
robbed  by  her  kith  and  kin,  a  roar  of  tiremen 
and  jewellers  clamorous  for  their  debts,  a  mui-niur 


Annr:  Boleyn  at  the  Queen's  Stair.     (Drawn  6y  M.  L.  Goxe.) 


142 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


of  knights  and  barons  protesting  against  her  loans, 
a  clatter  of  poor  Jews  objecting  to  be  spoiled. 
Despite  her  gifts  of  birth  and  wit,  Elinor  la  Belle 
is  the  most  unpopular  princess  in  the  world.  She 
has  been  living  at  the  Tower,  which  her  husband 
loves ;  but  she  feels  that  her  palace  is  a  kind  of 
jail ;  she  wishes  to  get  away,  and  she  has  sent  for 
her  barge  and  watermen,  hoping  to  escape  from 
her  people  and  to  breathe  the  free  air  of  her 
Windsor  home. 

Will  the  Commons  let  her  go  ?  Proudly  her 
barge  puts  off.  The  tabards  bend  and  the  clarions 
blare.  But  the  Commons,  who  wait  her  coming 
on  London  Bridge,  dispute  her  passage,  and  drive 
her  back  with  curses,  crying,  "-Drown  the  witch ! 
Drown  the  witch  ! "'  Unable  to  pass  the  bridge, 
Elinor  has  to  turn  her  keel,  and,  with  passionate 
rage  in  her  heart,  to  find  her  way  back. 

Her  sou,  the  young  and  fiery  Edward,  never 
forgets  this  insult  to  his  mother ;  by-and-by  he 
will  seek  revenge  for  it  on  Lewes  field  ;  and  by 
mad  pursuit  of  his  revenge  he  will  lose  the  great 
fight  and  imperil  his  father's  crown. 

Again  : — it  is  London  in  the  reign  of  bluff  King 
Hal— the  husband  of  two  fair  wives.  The  river  is 
alive  with  boats ;  the  air  is  white  with  smoke  ; 
the  sun  overhead  is  burning  with  golden  May. 
Thousands  on  thousands  of  spectators  dot  the 
banks  ;  for  to-day  a  bride  is  coming  home  to  the 
king,  the  beauty  of  whose  face  sets  old  men's 
fancies  and  young  men's  eyes  agog.  On  the 
wharf,  near  the  Queen'.s  Stair,  stands  a  burly 
figure,  taU  beyond  common  men  ;  broad  in  chest 
and  strong  in  limb  ;  dressed  in  a  doublet  of  gold 
and  crimson,  a  cap  and  plume,  shoes  with  rosettes 
and  diamonds,  a  hanger  by  his  side,  a  George 
upon  his  breast.  It  is  the  king,  surrounded  by 
dukes  and  earls,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  barge, 
in  the  midst  of  blaring  trumpets  and  exploding 
sakers.  A  procession  sweeps  along;  stealing  up 
from  Greenwich,  with  plashing  oars  and  merry 
strains,  fifty  great  boats,  with  a  host  of  wherries 
on  their  flanks  ;  a  vessel  firing  guns  in  front,  and 
a  long  arrear  of  craft  behind. 

From  the  first  barge  lands  the  lord  mayor ; 
from  the  second  trips  the  bride  ;  from  the  rest 
stream  out  the  picturesque  city  companies. 
Cannons  roar,  and  bells  fling  out  a  welcome  to 
the  queen ;  for  this  is  not  simply  a  great  day  in 
the  story  of  one  lovely  woman  ;  but  a  great  day 
in  the  story  of  English  life.  Now  is  the  morning 
time  of  a  new  era  ;  for  on  this  bright  May — 

"  The  gosi)el  light  first  shines  from  Bolejrn's  eyes," 

and  men  go  mad  with  hope  of  things  which  are 
yet  to  come. 

The  king  catches  that  fair  young  bride  in  his 
arms,  kisses  her  soft  cheek,  and  bears  her  in 
through  the  Bye-ward  Tower. 


The  picture  fades  from  view,  and  presently 
reappears.  Is  it  the  samel  The  queen — the 
stair — the  barge — the  crowd  of  men — all  these 
are  here.  Yet  the  picture  is  not  the  same.  No 
burly  Henry  stands  by  the  stair  ;  no  guns  disturb 
the  sky ;  no  blast  of  trumpets  greets  the  royal 
barge  ;  no  train  of  aldermen  and  masters  waits 
upon  the  queen.  The  lovely  face  looks  older  by 
a  dozen  years  ;  yet  scarcely  three  have  passed 
since  that  fair  form  was  clasped  in  the  king's 
arms,  kissed,  and  carried  by  the  bridge.  This 
time  she  is  a  prisoner,  charged  with  having  done 
such  things  as  pen  cannot  write  ;  things  which 
would  be  treason,  not  to  her  lord  only,  but  to  her 
womanhood,  and  to  the  King  of  kings. 

When  she  alights  on  the  Queen's  Stair,  she 
turns  to  Sir  William  Kingston,  Constable  of 
the  Tower,  and  asks,  "  Must  I  go  into  a  dungeon  1" 
"•  No,  madam,"  says  the  constable  ;  "  you  will  lie 
in  the  same  room  which  you  occupied  before." 
She  falls  on  her  knees.  "  It  is  too  good  for 
me,"  she  cries ;  and  then  weeps  for  a  long  time, 
lying  on  the  cold  stones,  with  all  the  ))eople 
standing  by  in  tears.  She  begs  to  have  a  sacra- 
ment in  her  own  room,  that  she  may  pray  with 
a  pure  heart ;  sayiup-.  she  is  free  from  sin,  and 
that  she  is,  and  has  always  been,  the  king's  true 
wedded  wife. 

"  Shall  I  die  without  justice  ] "  she  inquires. 
"Madam,"  says  Kingston,  "the  poorest  subject 
would  have  justice."  The  lady  only  laughs  a 
feeble  laugh. 

Other,  and  not  less  tragic,  scenes  drew  crowds 
to  the  Water  Way  from  the  Thames. 

Beneath  this  arch  has  moved  a  long  procession 
of  our  proudest  peers,  our  fairest  women,  our 
bravest  soldiers,  our  wittiest  poets— Buckingham 
and  Strafford  ;  Lady  Jane  Grey,  the  Princess 
Elizabeth  ;  William  Wallace,  David  Bruce  ; 
Surrey,  Raleigh—names  in  which  the  splendour, 
poetry,  and  sentiment  of  our  national  story  are 
embalmed.  Most  of  them  left  it  high  in  rank 
and  rich  in  life,  to  return,  by  the  same  dark 
passage,  in  a  few  brief  hours  poorer  than  the 
beggars  who  stood  shivering  on  the  bank;  in 
the  eyes  of  the  law,  and  in  the  words  of  their 
fellows,  already  dead. 

From  this  gateway  went  the  barge  of  that  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  the  rival  of  Wolsey,  the  last 
permanent  High-constable  of  England.  Buck- 
ingham had  not  dreamed  that  an  off'ence  so  slight 
as  his  could  bring  into  the  dust  so  proud  a  head  ; 
for  his  oiFence  was  nothing  ;  some  silly  words 
which  he  had  bandied  lightly  in  the  Rose,  a  city 
tavern,  about  the  young  king's  journey  into 
France.  He  could  not  see  that  his  head  was 
struck  because  it  moved  so  high  ;  nay,  his  proud 
boast  that  if  his  enemies  sent  him  to  the  Tower, 
ten  thousand  friends  would  storm  the  walls  to  set 


LEEDLE    YAWCOB  STRAUSS. 


113 


him  free,  was  perhaps  the  occasion  of  his  falL 
Wtxin  sentence  of  death  was  given,  he  marched 
back  to  his  barge,  where  Sir  Thomas  Lovel,  then 
constable,  stood  ready  to  hand  him  to  the  seat  of 
honour.  "  Nay,"  said  the  duke  to  Lovel,  "  not  so 
now.  When  I  came  to  Westminster  I  was  Lord 
High-constable  and  Duke  of  Buckingham  ;  now  I 
am  but  poor  Edward  Stafford." 

Landed  at  the  Temple  Stair,  he  was  marched 
along  Fleet  Street,  through  St.  Paul's  Churchyard, 
and  by  way  of  Cheap  to  the  Tow:r ;  the  axe 
borne  before  him  all  the  way ;  Sir  William  Sandys 
holding  him  by  the  right  arm,  Sir  Nicholas  Vaux 
by  the  left.  A  band  of  Augustine  friars  stood 
praying  round  the  block  ;  and  when  his  head  had 
fallen  into  the  dust  they  bore  his  remains  to 
St.  Austin's  Chiu'ch. 

On  these  steps,  too,  beneath  this  Water  Gate, 
Elizabeth,  then  a  fair  young  girl,  with  gentle 
feminine  face  and  golden  hair,  was  landed  by  her 
jealous  sister's  servants.  The  day  was  Sunday — 
Palm  Sunday — with  a  cold  March  rain  coming 
down,  and  splashing  the  stones  with  mud.     She 


could  not  land  without  soiling  her  feet  and 
clothes,  and  for  a  moment  she  refused  to  leave 
her  barge.  Sir  .John  Gage,  the  constable,  and 
hia  guards,  stood  by  to  receive  her.  "Are  all 
these  harnessed  men  for  me  ] "  she  asked.  "  No, 
madam,"  said  Sir  John.  "  Yea,"  she  replied,  "  I 
know  it  is  so."  Then  she  stood  up  in  her  boat  and 
leaped  on  shore.  As  she  set  foot  on  the  stone 
steps,  she  exclaimed,  in  a  spirit  prouder  than  her 
looks — for  in  her  youth  she  had  none  of  that 
leonine  beauty  of  her  later  years — "  Here  landeth 
as  true  a  subject,  being  a  prisoner,  as  ever  landed 
at  these  stairs ;  and  before  thee,  0  God,  I  speak 
it."  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  her  mother, 
who  had  landed  on  the  neighbouring  wharf. 
Anne  had  fallen  on  her  knees  on  these  cold  stones, 
and  here  had  called  on  God  to  he\\>  her,  as  she 
was  not  giiilty  of  the  things  of  which  she  stood 
accused.  In  those  two  attitudes  of  appeal  one 
reads  the  nature  of  these  two  proud  and  gentle 
women,  each  calling  Heaven  to  witness  her 
innocence  of  crime— Elizabeth  defiant,  erect ; 
Anne  suppliant,  on  her  knees. 


LEEDLE    YAWCOB    STEAUSS.* 

[By  Charles  F.  Adams.] 


IHAF  von  funny  leedle  poy, 
Vot  gomes  schust  to  mine  knee  ; 
Der  queerest  schap,  der  createst  rogue, 
As  efer  you  dit  see. 

He  runs,  und  schumps,  und  schmashes  dings 

In  all  barts  of  der  house  : 
But  vot  off  dot  ]  he  vas  mine  son, 

Mine  leedle  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  get  der  measles  und  der  mumbs, 

I"nd  eferyding  dot's  oudt  ; 
He  spills  mine  glass  of  lager  bier, 

Poots  schnuff  indo  mine  kraut. 

He  fills  mine  i)ipe  mit  Limburg  cheese, — 

Dot  vas  der  roughest  chouse  : 
I'd  dake  dot  vrom  no  oder  poy 

But  leedle  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  dakes  der  milk-ban  for  a  dhrum, 

I^nd  cuts  mine  cane  in  dwo, 
To  make  der  schticks  to  beat  it  mit, — 

Mine  gracious,  dot  vos  drue  ! 


I  dinks  mine  hed  vas  schplit  abart 

He  kicks  oup  sooeh  a  touse  : 
But  never  mind  ;  der  poys  vas  few 

Like  dot  young  Yawcob  Strauss. 

He  asks  me  questions  sooch  as  dese  : 
Who  baints  mine  nose  so  red  ? 

Who  vas  it  cuts  dot  schmoodth  blace  oudt 
Vrom  der  hair  ubon  mine  hed  I 

Und  vhere  der  plaze  goes  vrom  der  lamp 

Vene'er  der  glim  I  douse. 
How  gan  I  all  dose  dings  eggsblain 

To  dot  schmall  Yawcob  Strauss  ? 

I  somedimes  dink  I  schall  go  vild 

Mit  sooch  a  grazy  poy, 
T^nd  vish  vonce  more  I  gould  haf  rest, 

Und  beaceful  dimes  enshoy  ; 

But  ven  he  vash  ashleep  in  ped, 

So  guiet  as  a  mouse, 
I  prays  der  Lord,  "  Dake  anyding. 

But  leaf  dot  Yawcob  Strauss." 


•  By  permission  of  Messrs.  George  Eout'.edKC  and  Sous. 


U4 


GLEANINGS    FROM    POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


HAPPY     THOUGHTS, 


[By    F.    C.    BUENAND."' 


I 


HAVE  now  hit 
upon  a  very 
liapi)y  thought. 
Being  in  need  of 
(juiet,  in  order  to 
commence  my 
great  work  on 
"Typical  Develop- 
luents,"  I  have 
i\)und  a  charming 
retreat  on  the  banks 
of  the  Thames, 
somewhere  about 
Twickenham,  or 
Teddington,  or 
Richmond,  or  Kingston,  and  all  that  imrt.  Capital 
fishing  here.  h\  punts,  with  a  man,  and  worms  ; 
average  sport,  one  tittlebat  in  ten  hours. 

First  Happy  Day.  Charming ;  perfect  quiet. 
See  a  man  in  punt,  fishing.  Ask  him  how  long 
he  had  been  there?  He  siiys,  "Three  hours." 
Caught  anything]  "Nothing."  He  is  quite 
cheerful.  Full  of  happy  thoughts,  and  commence 
my  Typical  Developments.  In  the  evening  catch 
an  earwig ;  not  a  bit  frightened  of  him.  llie 
pincei's  in  an  eaiitricf^s  tail  dont  bite. 

To  bed  early.  Leave  the  man  fishing  ;  his  man 
with  the  bait  asleep.  Been  there  all  day  ]  "  Yes." 
Caught  anything  ?  "  Nothing."  Quite  contented. 
Second  Happy  Day.  Up  early.  Same  man  in 
punt,  still  fishing  ;  new  man  with  bait.  Ask  him 
how  long  he  has  been  there  ]  "All  night."  Caught 
anything]  "Nothing."  Not  at  all  irritable.  .  .  . 
Kill  two  earwigs  in  my  bath.  Sit  in  my  parlour  to 
write. 

Before  me  is  my  little  lawn  :  at  the  foot  of  the 
lawn  runs  the  river. 

9  A.M.  I  conmience  my  Tyjncal  Developments, 
note  the  fact,  keeping  by  me  this  journal  of 
observation  in  case  anything  turns  up.  Something 
has  turned  up  :  an  earwig.  Distracting  for  a 
moment,  but  now  defunct.  All .  is  peace.  I  walk 
down  the  lawn.  Caught  anything  ]  "  Nothing." 
His  voice  is,  I  fancy,  getting  weaker.  I  am 
meditating,   and  my  soul    is  rising    to    sublime 

heights A    Barge  is  passing  slowly, 

towed  by  horses  against  a  strong  stream,  while 
the  happy  bargeman  trudges  cheerily  along ;  and 
other  happy  bargemen  with  their  wives  and 
children  loll  lazily  on  the  deck.  (The  fishing  punt 
has  suddenly  disappeared. )  Ah  !  how  easily  may 
we  float  against  the  stream  of  life,  if  we  are  towed. 

How  sweet  it  is  to a  Barge  has  stuck  on  the 

shaliowj*. 


Scientific  Note. — How  distinctly  water  conveys 
sound .  I  can  hear  every  word  that  happy  barge- 
man on  the  opposite  shore  says,  as  if  I  were  at  his 
elbow.  He  is  using  language  of  a  fearful  descrip- 
tion to  his  horses.  The  other  bargeman  has  lifted 
himself  up  (he  was  on  his  back  kicking  his  legs  in 
the  air  on  deck)  to  remonstrate.  His  remon- 
strances are  couched  in  still  stronger  language,  and 
include  the  man  and  the  beasts.  Woman  (his  wife  I 
should  say)  interferes  with  a  view  to  peacemaking. 
Her  soothing  words  are  more  forcible  than  those 
of  the  two  men,  and  include  them  both  with  the 
beasts.  The  children  have  also  joined  in,  and  are 
abusing  the  bargeman  (their  father,  as  I  gather)  on 
shore.  My  gardener  tells  me  they'll  probably 
stick  here  till  the  tide  turns.  I  ask  him  if  it  often 
happens  ]  He  tells  me  "  Oh  !  it's  a  great  place  for 
barges."  My  sister  and  two  ladies  in  the  drawing- 
room  (also  facing  the  lawn)  have  closed  their  win- 
dows. Typical  Developments  shall  have  a  chapter 
on  the  "  Ideal  Bargeman."  To  write  is  impossible 
at  present.  A  recpest  has  been  f oi  warded  to  me 
from  the  drawing-room  to  the  effect  that  I  would 
step  in  and  kill  an  earwig  or  two.  I  step  in  and 
kill  five.  Ladies  in  hysterics.  The  punt  has  re- 
appeared :  he  only  put  in  for  more  bait.  Caught 
anything  I  "  Nothing."  Had  a  bite  ]  "  Once,  I 
think."  He  is  calm,  but  not  in  any  way  trium- 
phant. 

Evening. — Tide  turned.  Barge  gone.  They 
swore  till  the  last  moment.     From    my  lawn   I 


attempted  to  reason  with  them.  I  called  them 
"  my  good  men,"  and  tried  to  cajole  them.  Their 
immediate  reply  was  of  an  evasive  character.  I 
again  attempted  to  reason  with  them.  Out  of 
their  next  reply  I  distinguished  only  one  word 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 


145 


■which  was  not  positively  an  oath.  Even  as  it 
stood  apart  from  its  context,  it  wasn't  a  nice 
word,  and  my  negotiations  came  to  an  end.  Went 
back  to  my  parlour  and  killed  earwigs. 

Night. — Man  in  punt  still  fishing.  He  informs 
me  that  he  doesn't  think  this  a  very  good  place  for 
sport.  Caught  anything  ]  "  Nothing."  He  is 
^oing  somewhere  else.  I  find  that  I  can  write  at 
night.  No  noise.  I  discover  for  the  first  time 
that  I've  got  a  iieighbour  who  looks  at  the  Moon 
and  .Jupiter  every  night  through  a  large  telescope. 
He  asks  me  would  I  like  to  step  in  and  see 
Jupiter  ?....!  have  stepped  in  and  seen 


Jupiter  (who  gave  us  some  difficulty  in  getting 
liimself  into  a  focus)  until  my  head  aches.  He 
has  a  machine  for  stopping  the  earth's  motion 
while  we  look  at  .Jupiter.  It  is  very  convenient, 
as  you  can't  get  a  good  look  at  Jupiter  while  the 
earth  is  going  round. 

HappD  Thoufjhi.  —  To  call  my  astronomical 
acquaintance  ".Joshua."  I  do.  He  doesn't  like 
it.  No  writing  to-night.  Dviring  my  absence, 
five  moths,  attracted  by  the  gas-light,  and  at  least 
a  hundred  small  green  flies,  have  perished  misera- 
bly on  my  MS.  paper  and  books.  .  .  Screams 
from  the  ladies'  bed-room.  Off.  ....  Maid 
servant  up ! ! !  Lights  ! !  Would  I  mind  stepping 
in  and  killing  an  earwig."  Bed.  I  open  my 
window  and  gaze  on  the  placid  stream.  Why, 
there's  a  punt ;  and  a  man  in  it :  fishing.  He  is 
returned.  Caught  anything  ]  "  Nothing."  Good 
Dight.     "Good  night." 

Third  Happy  Day.  —  Five  earwigs  in  bath, 
drowned.  Fine  day  for  Typical  Developments. 
Man  and  punt  gone  ;  at  least  I  don't  see  them. 
Commenced  Chapter  1st.  .  .  .  Dear  me  I 
Music  on  the  water.  A  large  barge  with,  a  pleasure 
party.  They're  dancing  the  Lancers.  The  gardener 
says,  in  reply  to  my  question  about  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  these  merry-makings,  "  Oh,  yes,  it's  a 


great  place  for  pleasure  parties  and  moosic.  They 
comes  up  in  summer  about  three  or  four  at  a  time 
all  a  playin'  of  different  toons.  Quite  gay  like. 
The  Maria  Jane  brings  up  parties  every  day  with 
a  band."  The  Maria  Jane  is  the  name  of  the 
pleasure  barge.  Bah  !  I  will  overcome  this 
nervousness.  I  will  abstract  myself  from  passing 
barges  and  music,  and  concentrate  myself  upon— 
tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti  tum— that's  the  bowing 
figure  in  the  Lancers— hawg  the  bowing  figure  ! 
— Let  me  concentrate  myself  upon  —  with  a 
tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti  tum.  It's  difficult  to 
remember  the  Lancers.  The  barge  has  passed. 
Now  for  Typical  Developments. — Message  from 
my  aunt,  "  Would  I  step  in  and  kill  an  earwig  in 
the  work-box."  ...  A  steamer!  I  didn't 
know  steamers  were  allowed  here.  "Oh,  yes,"  the 
gardener  says,  "it's  a  great  place  for  steamers. 
They  brings  up  school  children  for  feasts.'  They 
do  with  a  vengeance ;  the  children  are  shouting 
and  holloaing,  their  masters  and  mistresses  are 
issuing  orders  for  landing ;  thank  goodness,  on  the 
opposite  bank.  They've  got  a  band,  too.  "  No," 
the  gardener  explains,  "it's  not  their  band  I  hear, 
that  belongs  to  the  Benefit  Societies'  Club,  as  has 
just  come  up  in  the  other  steamer  behind.'  The 
other  steamer  !  They're  dancing  the  Lancers.,  too. 
I  must  concentrate  myself  ;  let  me  see,  where  was 
I  %  Typical  Developments.  Chap.  I.  Tiddledy 
tiddledy  rum  ti  tum.  With  my  tiddledy  tiddledy 
rum  tum  tum.  And  my  tiddledy  tiddledy.  That's 
the  bowing  figure.  Now  they're  bowing,  and 
finish,  yes,  tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti  tum.  The 
iMncers  is  rather  fun.  .  .  Goodness  !  I  find 
myself  unconsciously  practising  steps  and  doing 
a  figure.     I  mnst  concentrate  myself. 

Afternoon.  — Barges  and  swearing.  Pleasure  boat 
with  band,  and  party  dancing  Lancers,  for  the 
fourth  time.  Return  of  all  the  boats,  steamers, 
and  barges  ;  they  stop  opposite,  out  of  a  mistaken 
complimentary  feeling  on  their  part,  and  play  (for 
a  change)  the  Lancers,  Tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti 
tum.  Becoming  a  little  wild,  I  dance  by  myself  on 
the  lawn.  The  maid  comes  out.  "  Would  I  step 
in  and  kill  an  earwig  1 "  With  pleasure — bowing 
figure— and  my  tiddledy  iddledy  rum  ti  tum. 

Night.  —  The  turmoil  has  all  passed.  I  walk 
down  the  lawn  and  gaze  on  the  calmly  flowing 
river.  Is  it  possible  1  There  is  the  punt  and  the 
man,  fishing.  He'd  been  a  little  higher  up.  Caught 
anything  1  "Nothing."  Gardener  informs  me 
that  people  often  come  out  for  a  week's  fishing. 
I  suppose  he's  come  out  for  a  week's  fishing.  Neigh- 
bour over  the  hedge  asks  me,  "  Would  I  like  to 
have  a  look  at  Jupiter  1 "  I  say  I  won't  trouble 
him.  He  says  no  trouble,  just  get  the  focus,  stop 
the  earth's  motion,  and  there  you  are.  He  does  get 
the  focus,  stops  the  earth's  motion  with  his  in- 
strument, and,  consequently,  there  I  am.    I  leave 


146 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


my  Typical  Developments,  Chap.  I.  .  .  .  Look- 
ing through  the  telescope  makes  one's  head  ache. 
We  did  have  some  brandy-and-water.  Shan't  stop 
up  80  late  again.  Cocks  begin  to  crow  here  at 
midnight.  It's  quite  light  at  midnight :  I  can't  con- 
centrate myself  like  the  man  in  the  punt.  Caught 
anything]  "Nothing."  Good  night.  '"Good 
night" 

Fourth  and  Fifth  Happy  Days.  —  Typical 
Developments,  Chap.  I.  Man  in  punt  disappeared. 
Lancers,  tiddledy  iddledy  rum  ti  turn,  from  11  a.m. 
till  2  p.m.  School  feasts  2  till  5.  Earwigs  to  be 
killed  every  other  half-hour.  Cheering  from  Odd 
Fellows  and  Mutual  Benevolent  Societies.  Barges 
at  all  hours  and  strong  language.  Festive  people 
on  opposite  shore  howling  and  fighting  up  till  past 
midnight.  Gardener  says,  "  Oh !  yes,  it's  a  great 
place  for  all  that  sort  of  thing."  Disturbed  in  the 
evening  by  Jupiter,  Saturn,  and  the  Moon,  which 
liave  got  something  remarkable  the  matter  with 
them.  Accounted  for,  perhaps,  by  the  machine  for 


checking  the  earth's  motion  being  a  little  out  of" 
order, 

Happy  Thought — I  have  found  a  more  charm- 
ing "  Retreat"  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  i.e.,  to 
retreat  altogether.  Have  heard  of  an  old  Feudal 
Castle  to  be  let.  Shall  go  there.  Shan't  take  my 
mother,  nor  my  aunt,  and,  of  course,  not  Miss 
Jinsey. 

Happy  Thought. — To  be  alone.  Moat  and  re- 
mote ;  put  that  into  Typical  Developments, 
Chap.  I.  We  have  packed  up  everything.  I  open 
my  note-book  of  memoranda  to  see  if  I've  left 
anything  behind.  I  walk  down  the  lawn  to  see 
if  I've  left  anything  behind  there.  Yes !  there 
he  is.  The  man  in  the  punt,  still  fishing.  He 
says  he's  been  a  little  lower  down.  Any  sport  ] 
"None."  Caught  anything  here?  "Nothing." 
Good  bye.  "Good  bye."  And  so  I  go  away  and 
leave  him  behind. 


-.35^! 


THE    VALUE    OF    THOUGHT. 


[From  "  The  Stones  of  Venice."    By  John  Ruskin.] 


HE  modem  English  mind  has 
this  much  in  common  with 
that  of  the  Greek,  that  it  in- 
tensely desires,  in  all  things, 
the  utmost  completion  or  per- 
fection compatible  with  their 
nature.  This  is  a  noble  cha- 
racter in  the  abstract,  but  be- 
comes ignoble  when  it  causes 
us  to  forget  the  relative  dignities  of  that  nature 
itself,  and  to  prefer  the  perfectness  of  the  lower 
nature  to  the  imperfection  of  the  higher  ;  not  con- 
sidering that  as,  judged  by  such  a  rule,  all  the  brute 
animals  would  be  preferable  to  man,  because  more 
perfect  in  their  functions  and  kind,  and  yet  are 
always  held  inferior  to  him,  so  also  in  the  works  of 
man,  those  which  are  more  perfect  in  their  kind  are 
always  inferior  to  those  which  are,  in  their  nature, 
liable  to  more  faults  and  shortcomings.  For  the 
finer  the  nature,  the  more  flaws  it  will  show  through 
the  clearness  of  it ;  and  it  is  a  law  of  this  universe, 
that  the  best  things  shall  be  seldomest  seen  in  their 
best  form.  The  wild  grass  grows  well  and  strongly, 
one  year  with  another ;  but  the  wheat  is,  according 
to  the  greater  nobleness  of  its  nature,  liable  to 
the  bitterer  blight.  And,  therefore,  while  in  all 
things  that  we  see,  or  do,  we  are  to  desire  perfec- 
tion, and  strive  for  it,  we  are  nevertheless  not  to 


set  the  meaner  thing,  in  its  narrow  accomplish- 
ment, above  the  nobler  thing,  in  its  mighty 
progress  ;  not  to  esteem  smooth  minuteness  above 
shattered  majesty  ;  not  to  prefer  mean  victory  to 
honourable  defeat ;  not  to  lower  the  level  of  our 
aim,  that  we  may  the  more  surely  enjoy  the  com- 
placency of  success. 

But,  above  all,  in  our  dealings  with  the  souls 
of  other  men,  we  are  to  take  care  how  we  check, 
by  severe  requirement  or  narrow  caution,  efforts 
which  might  otherwise  lead  to  a  noble  issue  ;  and, 
still  more,  how  we  withhold  our  admiration  from 
great  excellences,  because  they  are  minglad  with 
rough  faults.  Now,  in  the  make  and  nature  of 
every  man,  however  rude  or  simple,  whom  we 
employ  in  manual  labour,  there  are  some  powers 
for  better  things  :  some  tardy  imagination,  torpid 
capacity  of  emotion,  tottering  steps  of  thought, 
there  are,  even  at  the  worst ;  and  in  most  cases  it 
is  all  our  own  fault  that  they  are  tardy  or  torpid. 
But  they  cannot  be  strengthened,  unless  we  are 
content  to  take  them  in  their  feebleness,  and 
unless  we  prize  and  honour  them  in  their  im- 
perfection above  the  best  and  most  perlect  manual 
skill.  And  this  is  what  we  have  to  do  with  all 
our  labourers ;  to  look  for  the  thoughtful  part  of 
them,  and  get  that  out  of  them,  whatever  we  lose 
for  it,  whatever  faults  and  errors  we  are  obliged  to 


THE    VALUE   OF    THOUGHT. 


147 


■take  "with  it.  For  the  best  that  is  in  them  cannot 
manifest  itself,  but  in  company  with  much  error. 

Understand  this  clearly  :  You  can  teach  a  man 
•to  draw  a  straight  line,  and  to  cut  one  ;  to  strike 
.a  curved  line,  and  to  carve  it ;  and  to  copy  and 
carve  any  number  of  given  lines  or  forms,  with 
admirable  speed  and  perfect  precision;  and  you 
find  his  work  perfect  of  its  kind  :  but  if  you  ask 
him  to  think  about  any  of  those  forms,  to  consider 
if  he  cannot  find  any  better  in  his  own  head,  he 
stops  ;  his  execution  becomes  hesitating  ;  he 
thinks,  and  ten  to  one  he  thinks  wrong  ;  ten  to 
■one  he  makes  a  mistake  in  the  first  touch  he  gives 
to  his  work  as  a  thinking  being.  But  you  have 
made  a  man  of  him  for  all  that.  He  was  only  a 
machine  before,  an  animated  tool. 

And  observe,  you  are  put  to  stern  choice  in  this 
matter.  You  must  either  make  a  tool  of  the 
creature,  or  a  man  of  him.  You  cannot  make 
both.  Men  were  not  intended  to  work  with  the 
accuracy  of  tools,  to  be  precise  and  perfect  in  all 
their  actions.  If  you  will  have  that  precision  out 
of  them,  and  make  their  fingers  measure  degrees 
like  cog-wheels,  and  their  arms  strike  curves  like 
•compasses,  you  must  unhumanise  them.    All  the 


energy  of  their  spirits  must  be  given  to  make  cogs 
and  compasses  of  themselves.  All  their  attention 
and  strength  must  go  to  the  accomplishment  of 
the  mean  act.  The  eye  of  the  soul  must  be  bent 
upon  the  finger-point,  and  the  soul's  force  must  fill 
all  the  invisible  nerves  that  guide  it,  ten  hours  a 
day,  that  it  may  not  err  from  its  steely  precision, 
and  so  soul  and  sight  be  worn  away,  and  the  whole 
human  being  be  lost  at  last — a  heap  of  sawdust,  so 
far  as  its  intellectual  work  in  this  world  is  concerned; 
saved  only  by  its  Heart,  which  cannot  go  into  the 
form  of  cogs  and  compasses,  but  expands,  after 
the  ten  hours  are  over,  into  fireside  humanity. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  you  will  make  a  man  of 
the  working  creature,  you  cannot  make  a  tool 
Let  him  but  begin  to  imagine,  to  think,  to  try  to 
do  anything  worth  doing ;  and  the  engine-turned 
precision  is  lost  at  once.  Out  come  all  his  rough- 
ness, all  his  dulness,  all  his  incapability ;  shame 
upon  shame,  failure  upon  failure,  pause  after 
pause  :  but  out  comes  the  whole  majesty  of  him 
also  ;  and  we  know  the  height  of  it  only  when  we 
see  the  clouds  settling  upon  him.  And,  whether 
the  clouds  be  bright  or  dark,  there  will  be  trans- 
figuration behind  and  within  them. 


^  h^^ , 


'iCsHfa 


RUPERT'S   MARCH. 

[From  "  Historical  and  Legendary  Balldds."    By  Walter  THORHBCRr.] 
L  -  IV. 


iARABINE  slung,  stirrup  well  hung, 
Flagon  at  saddle-bow  merrily  swung  ; 
Toss  up  the  ale, — for  our  flag,  like  a  sail, 
Struggles  and  swells  in  the  July  gale. 
Colours  fling  out,  and  then  give  them  a 

shout ; 
We  are  the  gallants  to  put  them  to  rout. 

II. 
.'Flash  all  your  swords,  like  Tartarian  hordes, 
And  scare  the  prim  ladies  of  Puritan  lords  ; 
•  Our  steel  caps  shall  blaze  through  the  long  summer 

days, 
A:  we  galloping  sing  our  mad  Cavalier  lays. 
'  Then,  banners,  advance  !  by  the  lilies  of  France, 
We  are  the  gallants  to  lead  them  a  dance  ! 

III. 

Ring  the  bells  back,  though  the  sexton  look  black, 
Defiance  to  knaves  who  are  hot  on  our  track. 
""  Murder  and  fire  ! "  shout  louder  and  higher  ; 
.Remember  Edge  Hill  and  the  red-dabbled  mire. 
When  our  steeds  we  shall  stall  in  the  Parliament 

hall, 
And  shake  the  old  nest  till  the  roof -tree  shall  fall. 


Froth  it  up,  girl,  till  it  splash  every  curl, 
October's  the  liquor  for  trooper  and  earl ; 
Bubble  it  up,  merry  gold  in  the  cup. 
We  never  may  taste  of  to-morrow  night's  sup 
(Those  red  ribbons  glow  on  thy  bosom  below- 
Like  apple-tree  bloom  on  a  hillock  of  snow). 

V. 

No,  by  my  word,  there  never  shook  sword 
Better  than  this  in  the  clutch  of  a  lord. 
The  blue  streaks  that  run  are  as  bright  in  the  sun 
As  the  veins  on  the  brow  of  that  loveliest  one  ; 
No  deep  light  of  the  sky,  when  the  twilight  is 

nigh, 
Glitters  more  bright  than  this  blade  to  the  eye. 

VI. 

Well,  whatever  may  hap,  this  rusty  steel  cap 

Will  keep  out  full  many  a  pestilent  rap  ; 

This  buff;  though  it's  old,  and  not  larded  with 

gold. 
Will  guard  me  from  rapier  as  well  as  from  cold  ; 
This  scarf,  rent  and  torn,  though  its  colour  is 

worn. 
Shone  gay  as  a  page's  but  yesterday  mom. 


148 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


'  EsD  GREW  THE  TIDE."    {Drawn  by  W,  Small.) 


VII. 

f  lere  is  a  dint  from  the  jag  of  a  flint 
ThrowTi  by  a  Puritan,  just  as  a  hint ; 
But  this  stab  through  the  buff  was  a  warning 

more  rough, 
When  Coventry  city  arose  in  a  huff ; 
And  I  met  with  this  gash,  as  we  rode  with  a  crash 
Into  Noll's  pikes  on  the  banks  of  the  Ash. 

VIII. 

No  jockey  or  groom  wears  so  draggled  a  plume 
As  this,  that's  just  drenched  in  the  swift  flowing 
Froom, 


Red  grew  the  tide  ere  we  reached  the  steep  side 
And  steaming  the  hair  of  old  Barbary's  hide  ; 
But  for  branch  of  that  oak,  that  saved  me  a  stroke' 
I  had  sunk  there  like  herring  in  pickle  to  soak. 

IX. 

Pistolet  crack  flashed  bright  on  our  track. 
And  even  the  foam  of  the  water  turned  black. 
They  were  twenty  to  one,  our  poor  rapier  to  gun, 
But  we  charged  up  the  bank,  and  we  lost  only  one.. 
So  I  saved  the  old  flag,  though  it  was  but  a  rag, 
And  the  sword  in  my  hand  was  snapped  off  to  Sk 
jag- 


KUPERT'S   MARCH. 


U9 


The  water  was  churned  as  we  wheeled  and  w^e 

turned, 
And  the  dry  brake,  to  scare  out  the  vernain,  we 

burned ; 
We  gave  our  halloo,  and  our  trumpet  we  blew ; 
Of  all  their  stout  fifty  we  left  them  but  two  ; 
With  a  mock  and  a  laugh,  won  their  banner  and 

staff, 
And  trod  down  the  cornets  as  threshers  do  chaff. 

XL 

Saddle  my  roan,  his  back  is  a  throne, 

Better  than  velvet  or  gold,  you  will  own. 

Look  to  your  match,  for  some  harm  you  may 

catch, 
For  treason  has  always  some  mischief  to  hatch. 
And  Oliver's  out  with  all  Haslerigg's  rout. 
So  I'm  told  by  this  shivering,  white-livered  scout. 


the 


XII. 

downs, 


through  village  and 


We  came   o'er 

towns, 
In  spite  of  the  sneers,  and  the  curses,  and  frowns. 
Drowning  their  psalms  and  stilling  their  qualms, 
With  a  clatter  and  rattle  of  scabbards  and  arms, 
Down  the  long  street,  with  a  trample  of  feet. 
For  the  echo  of  hoofs  to  a  Cavalier's  sweet. 

XIII. 

See,  black  on  each  roof,  at  the  sound  of  our  hoof. 
The  Puritans  gather,  but  keep  them  aloof  ; 
Their  muskets  are  long  and  they  aim  at  a  throng. 
But  woe  to  the  weak  when  they  challenge  the 

strong  ! 
Butt-end  to  the  door — one  liammer  more. 
Our  pike-men  rush  in  and  the  struggle  is  o'er. 

XIV, 

Storm  through  the  gate,  batter  the  plate, 
Cram  the'  red  crucible  into  the  grate, 
Saddle-bags  fill,  Bob,  Jenkin,  and  Will, 
And  spice  the  staved  wine  that  runs  out  like  a 

rill; 
That  maiden  shall  ride  all  to-day  by  my  side, 
Those  ribbons  are  fitting  a  Cavalier's  bride, 

XV. 

Does  Baxter  say  right,  that  a  bodice  laced  tight 
Should  never  be  seen  by  the  sun  or  the  light  ? 
Like  stars  from  a  wood,  shine  under  that  hood 
Eyes  that  are  sparkling,  though  pious  and  good. 


Surely  this  waist  was  by  Providence  placed, 
By  a  true  lover's  arm  to  be  often  embraced.' 

XVI. 

Down  on  your  knees,  you  villains  in  frieze ; 

A  draught  to  King  Charles,  or  a  swing  from  those 

trees. 
Blow  off  this  stiff  lock,  for  'tis  useless  to  knock, 
The  ladies  will  pardon  the  noise  and  the  shock  ; 
From  this  bright  dewy  cheek,  might  I  venture  to 

speak, 
I  could  kiss  off  the  tears,  though  she  wept  for  a 

week. 

XVII. 

Now  loop  me  this  scarf  round  the  broken  pike- 
staff, 

'Twill  do  for  a  flag,  though  the  Cropheads  may 
laugh. 

Who  was  it  blew  1    Give  a  halloo, 

And  hang  out  the  pennon  of  crimson  and  blue. 

A  volley  of  shot  is  welcoming  hot — 

It  cannot  be  troop  of  the  murdering  Scot. 

XVIII. 

Fire  the  old  mill  on  the  brow  of  the  hill ; 
Break  down  the  plank  that  runs  over  the  rill : 
Bar  the  town  gate— if  the  burghers  debate. 
Shoot  some  to  death— for  the  villains  must  wait. 
Ptip  up  the  lead  from  the  roofing  o'erhead. 
And  melt  it  for  bullets,  or  "we  shall  be  sped. 

XIX. 

N"ow  look  to  your  buff,  for  steel  is  the  stuff 
To  slash  your  brown  jerkins  with  crimson  enough. 
There  burst  a  flash  :  I  heard  their  drums  crash — 
To  horse  !   Now  for  race  over  moorland  and  plash. 
Ere  the  stars  glimmer  out  we  will  wake  with  a 

shout 
The  true  men  of  York,  who  will  welcome  our  rout. 

XX. 

We'll  shake  their  red  roofs  with  our  echoing  hoofs. 
And  flutter  the  dust  from  their  tapestry  woofs  ; 
Their  old  minster  shall  ring  with  our  "  God  save 

the  King  ! " 
And  our  horses  shall  drink. at  St.  Christopher's 

spring  ] 
We  shall  welcome  the  meat   oh  !    the  wine  will 

taste  sweet. 
When  our  boots  are  flung  off  and  as  brothers  we 

greet. 


^^, 


150 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


MR.   RABBIT   AND   MR.   FOX.* 


^ 


L^V-Js*-; 


[From  "  Uucle  Remus  :  Legends  of  the  Old  Plantation."     By  J.  C.  Harris.] 

V.'^IDN'T  the  fox  never  catch  the  rabbit, 
'}•  Uncle  Remus  ?  "  asked  the  little  boy. 
^  ,.j^       "  He  come  mighty  uigh  it,  honey,  sho's 
'"■^^^  ^     you  bawn — Brer  Fox  did.     One  day 


'iL 


n^    atter  Brer  Babbit  fool  'im  wid  dat  calamus 

Js.  root.  Brer  Fox  went  ter  wuk  en  got  'im  some 

I  tar,  en  mix  it  wid  some  turkentime,  en  fix  ui  • 
a  eontrapshun  what  he  called  a  Tar-Baby,  en 
he  tuck  dish  yer  Tar-Baby  en  he  sot  'er  in  de 
big  road,  en  den  he  lay  off  iu  de  bushes  fer  ter  see 
wat  de  news  wuz  gwineter  be.  En  he  didn't 
hatter  wait  long,  nudder,  kaze  bimeby  here  come 
Brer  Babbit  pacin'  down  de  road — lippity-clippity, 
clippity-lippity — dez  ez  sassy  ez  a  jay-bird.  Brer 
Fox,  he  lay  low.  Brer  Rabbit  come  prancin'  'long 
twel  he  spy  de  Tar-Baby,  en  den  he  fetch  up  on 
his  behime  legs  like  he  ^vuz  'stonished.  De  Tar- 
Baby,  she  sot  dar,  she  did,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

" '  Mawnin' ! '  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee — '  nice 
wedder  dis  mawnin','  sezee. 

"Tar- Baby  ain't  sayin'  nuthin',  en  Brer  Fox, 
he  lay  low. 

"'How  duz  yo'  sym'tums,  seem  ter  segashu- 
ate  ? '  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

"  Brer  Fox,  he  wink  his  eye  slow,  en  lay  low,  en 
de  Tar- Baby,  she  ain't  sayin'  nuthin'. 

"  '  How  you  come  on,  den  1  Is  you  deaf  1 '  sez 
Brer  Rabbit,  sezee.  '  Kaze  if  you  is,  I  kin  holler 
louder,'  sezee. 

"Tar-baby  stay  still,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

"' Youer  stuck  up,  dat's  w'at  you  is,'  says  Brer 


'specttubble  fokes  ef  hit's  de  las'  ack,'  sez  Brer 
Rabbit,  sezee.  '  Ef  you  don't  take  off  dat  hat  en 
tell  me  howdy,  I'm  gwineter  bus'  you  wide  open,' 
sezee. 

"Tar-Baby  stay  still,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 


"  He  fotch  rp  on  his  behime  legs." 

Rabbit,  sezee,  '  en  I'm  gwineter  kyore  you,  dat's 
-w'at  I'm  a  gwineter  do,'  sezee. 

"  Brer  Fox,  he  sorter  chuckle  in  his  stummuck, 
lie  did,  but  Tar-Baby  aint  sayin'  nuthin'. 

" '  I'm    gwineter    larn    you    liowter    talk    ter 


"He  tuck  'er  side  ee  de  head." 

"  Brer  Rabbit  keep  on  axin'  'im,  en  de  Tar- 
Baby,  she  keep  on  sayin,  nuthin',  twel  present'y 
Brer  Rabbit  draw  back  wid  his  fis',  he  did,  en  blip 
he  tuck  'er  side  er  de  head.  Right  dar's  whar  he 
broke  his  merlasses  jug.  His  fis'  stuck,  en  he 
can't  pull  loose.  De  tar  hilt  'im.  But  Tar- 
Baby,  she  stay  still,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

"  '  Ef  you  don't  lemme  loose,  I'll  knock  you  agin,' 
sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  en  wid  dat  he  fotch  'er  a 
wipe  wid  de  udder  han',  en  dat  stuck.  Tar-Baby, 
she  ain't  sayin'  nuthin',  en  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low. 

" '  Tu'n  me  loose,  fo'  I  kick  de  stuffin'  outen 
you,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  but  de  Tar-Baby, 
she  ain't  sayin'  nuthin'.  She  des  hilt  on,  en 
den  Brer  Rabbit  lose  de  use  er  his  feet  in  de  same 
way.  Brer  Fox,  he  lay  low.  Den  Brer  Rabbit 
squall  out  dat  ef  de  Tar-Baby  don't  tu'n  'im  loose 
he  butt  'er  cranksided.  En  den  he  butted,  en  his 
head  got  stuck.  Den  Brer  Fox,  he  sa'ntered  fort', 
lookin'  des  ez  innercent  ez  wunner  yo'  mammy's 
mockin'-birds. 

" '  Howdy,  Brer  Rabbit,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 
'  You  look  sorter  stuck  up  dis  mawnin','  sezee,  en 
den  he  rolled  on  de  groun',  en  laft  en  laft  twel  he 
couldn't  laff  no  mo'.  '  I  speck  you'll  take  dinner 
wid  me  dis  time,  Brer  Rabbit.  I  done  laid  in 
some  calamus  root,  en  I  ain't  gwineter  take  no 
skuse,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee." 

"  Wen  Brer  Fox  fine  Brer  Rabbit  mixt  up  wid 
de  Tar-Baby,  he  feel,  mighty  good,  en  he  roll  on 
de  groun'  en  laff.     Bimeby,  he  up'n  say,  sezee  : 


•  By  permission  of  Messrs.  George  Eoutledge  and  Sons. 


MR.    RABBIT   AND   MR.    FOX 


151 


"'Well,  I  speck  I  got-  you  dis  time,  Brer 
Rabbit,'  sezee ;  '  maybe  I  ain't,  but  I  speck  I  is. 
You  been  runnin'  roun'  here  sassin'  atter  me  a 
mighty  long  time,  but  I  speck  you  clone  come  ter 
cle  een'  er'de  row.  You  bin  cuttin'  up  yo'  capers 
en  bouncin'  'roun'  in  dis  naberhood  ontwel  you 
come  ter  b'leeve  yo'se'f  de  boss  er  de  whole  gang. 
En  den  youer  allers  some'rs  whar  you  got  no 
bizness,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee.  '  Who  ax  you  fer 
ter  come  en  strike  up  a  'quaintence  wid  dish  yer 
Tar-Baby  1  En  who  stuck  you  up  dar  whar  you  iz  1 
Nobody  in  de  roun'  worril.  You  des  tuck  en  jam 
yo'se'f  on  dat  Tar-Baby  widout  waitin'  fer  enny 
invite,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee,  '  en  dar  you  is,  en 
dar  you'll  stay  twell  I  fixes  up  a  bresh-pile  and 
fires  her  up,  kaze  I'm  gwineter  bobbycue  you  dis 
day,  sho,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 

"  Den  Brer  Rabbit  talk  mighty  'umble. 

" '  I  don't  keer  w'at  you  do  wid  me,  Brer  Fox,' 
sezee,  '  so  you  don't  fling  me  in  dat  brier-patch. 
Roas'  me,  Brer  Fox,'  sezee,  '  but  don't  fling  me  in 
dat  brier-patch,'  sezee. 

'"Hit's  so  much  trouble  fer  ter  kindle  a  fier,' 
sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee, '  dat  I  speck  I'll  hatter  hang 
you,'  sezee. 

"'Hang  me  des  ez  high  as  you  please,  Brer  Fox,' 
sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee, '  but  don't  fling  me  in  dat 
brier-patch,'  sezee. 

"  '  I  ain't  got  no  string,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee,  '  en 
now  I  speck  I'll  hatter  drown  you,'  sezee. 

" '  Drown  me  des  ez  deep  ez  you  please,  Brer 
Fox,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee,  '  but  do  don't  fling 
me  in  dat  brier-patch,'  sezee. 

"  '  Dey  ain't  no  water  nigh,'  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee, 
*  en  now  I  speck  I'll  hatter  skin  you,'  sezee. 

' "  Skin  me,  Brer  Fox,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee, 
snatch  out  my  eyeballs,  t'ar  out  my  years  by  de 
roots,  en  cut  ofi"  my  legs,'  sezee,  '  but  do  please. 


"  He  cotch  'im  by  de  behime  legs." 

Brer  Fox,  don't  fling  me  in  dat  brier- patch,'  sezee. 

"  Co'se  Brer  Fox  wanter  hurt  Brer  Rabbit  bad 

ez  he  kin,  so  he  cotch  'im  by  de  behime  legs  en 

slung  'im  right  in  de  middle  er  de  brier-patch. 


Dar  wuz  a  considerbul  flutter  whar  Brer  Babbit 
struck  de  bushes,  en  Brer  Fox  sorter  hand  'rouu* 
for  ter  see  w'at  wuz  gwineter  happen.  Bimeby  he 
hear  somebody  caU  'im,  en  way  up  de  hill  he  see 


"  He  see  Bber  Babbit  sittin"  cross-legged." 

Brer  Rabbit  settin'  cross-legged  on  a  chinkapin 
log  koamin'  de  pitch  outen  his  har  wid  a  chiii. 
Den  Brer  Fox  know  dat  he  bin  swop  off  mighty 
bad.  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  bleedzed  for  ter  fling  back 
some  er  his  sass,  en  he  holler  out  : 

"'Bred  en  bawn  in  a  brier-patch.  Brer  Fox — 
bred  en  bawn  in  a  brier-patch  ! '  en  wid  dat  he 
skip  out  des  ez  lively  ez  a  cricket  in  de  embers. 

"  Brer  Fox  feel  so  bad,  en  he  get  so  mad  'bout 
Brer  Rabbit,  dat  he  dunno  w'at  ter  do,  en  he  look 
mighty  down-hearted.  Bimeby,  one  day  wiles  he 
v/uz  gwine  'long  de  road,  ole  Brer  Wolf  come  up 
wid  'im.  W'en  dey  done  howdyin'  en  axin'  atter 
one  nudder's  fambly  kunnexshun.  Brer  Wolf,  he 
'low,  he  did,  dat  der  wuz  sump'n  wrong  wid  Brer 
Fox,  en  Brer  Fox,  he  'low'd  der  wern't,  en  he  went 
on  en  laff  en  make  great  ter-do  kaze  Brer  Wolf 
look  like  he  spishun  suinp'n.  But  Brer  Wolf,  he 
got  mighty  long  head,  en  he  sorter  broach  'bout 
Brer  Rabbit's  kyar'ns  on,  kaze  de  way  dat  Brer 
Rabbit  'ceive  Brer  Fox  done  got  ter  be  de  talk  er 
de  naberhood.  Den  Brer  Fox  and  Brer  Wolf  dey 
sorter  palavered  on,  dey  did,  twel  bimeby  Brer 
Wolf  he  up'n  say  dat  he  done  got  plan  fix  fer  ter 
trap  Brer  Rabbit.  Den  Brer  Fox  say  how.  Den 
Brer  Wolf  up'n  tell  'im  dat  de  way  fer  ter  git  de 
drap  on  Brer  Rabbit  wuz  ter  git  'im  in  Brer  Fox 
house.  Brer  Fox  dun  know  Brer  Rabbit  uv  ole, 
en  he  know  dat  sorter  game  done  wo'  ter  a  frazzle, 
but  Brer  Wolf,  he  talk  mighty  'swadin'. 

"  '  How  you  gwine  git  'im  dar  1 '  sez  Brtr  Fox, 
sezee. 

"  '  Fool  'im  dar,'  sez  Brer  Wolf,  sezee. 

" '  Who  gwine  do  de  foolin'  1 '  sez  Brer  Fox, 
sezee. 

" '  I'll  do  de  foolin','  sez  Brer  Wolt,  sezee,  '  ef 
you'll  do  de  gamin','  sezee. 

"  'How  you  gwine  do  it  ? '  sez  Brer  Fox,  sezee. 


152 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  *  You  run  'long  home,  en  git  on  de  bed,  en 
make  like  you  dead,  en  don't  yoii  say  nutliin'  twel 
Brer  Rabbit  come  en  put  his  han's  outer  you,'  sez 
Brer  Wolf,  sezee,  '  en  ef  we  don't  git  'm  fer  supper, 
Joe's  dead  en  Sal's  a  widder,'  sezee. 

"  Dis  look  like  mighty  nice  game,  en  Brer  Fox 
'greed.  So  den  he  amble  oif  home,  en  Brer  Wolf, 
he  march  oif  ter  Bier  Rabbit  house.  W'en  he  got 
dar,  hit  look  like  nc  body  at  home,  but  Brer  Wolf 


"He  walk  cr  en  knock  on  de  do'." 

he  walk  up  en  knock  on  de  do' — blam  !  blam  I 
Nobody  come.  Den  he  lam  aloose  en  knock  'gin 
— blim  !  blim  ! 

"  '  Who  dar  1 '  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

" '  Fr'en','  sez  Brer  Wolf. 

"  '  Too  menny  fr'en's  spiles  de  dinner,'  sez  Brer 
Rabbit,'  sezee  ;  *  w'ch  un's  disi '  sezee. 

" '  I  fetch  bad  news,  Brer  Rabbit,'  sez  Brer 
Wolf,  sezee. 

" '  Bad  news  is  soon  tole,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

"'By  dis  time  Brer  Rabbit  done  come  ter  de 
do',  wid  his  head  tied  up  in  a  red  hankcher. 

"  *  Brer  Fox  died  dis  mawnin','  sez  Brer  Wolf, 
sezee. 

" '  Whar  yo'  mo'nin'  gown,  Brer  Wolf  ? '  sez 
Brer  Babbit,  sezee. 

"'Gwine  atter  it  now,'  sez  Brer  Wolf,  sezee. 
*I  des  call  by  fer  ter  bring  de  news.  I  went 
down  ter  Brer  Fox  house  little  bit  'go,  en  dar  I 
Ibun'  'im  stiff,'  sezee. 

"Den  Brer  Wolf  lope    off.     Brer  Rabbit  sot 


down  en  stratch  his  head,  he  did,  en  bimeby  he 
say  ter  hisse'f  dat  he  b'leeve  he  sorter  drap  'roun' 
by  Brer  Fox  house  fer  ter  see  how  de  Ian'  lay. 
No  sooner  said'n  done.  Up  he  jump,  en  out  he 
went.  W'en  Brer  Rabbit  got  close  ter  Brer  Fox 
house,  all  look  lonesome.  Den  he  went  up  nigher. 
Nobody  stirrin'.  Den  he  look  in,  en  dar  lay  Brer 
Fox  stretch  out  on  de  bed  des  ez  big  ez  life.  Den 
Brer  Rabbit  make  like  he  talkin'  to  hisse'f. 


"Dar  lay  Brer  Fox." 

"  '  Nobody  'roun'  fer  ter  look  atter  Brer  Fox — 
not  even  Brer  Tukkey  Buzzard  ain't  come  ter  de 
funer'l,'  sezee.  '  I  hope  Brer  Fox  ain't  dead,  but 
I  speck  he  is,'  sezee.  '  Even  down  ter  Brer  Wolf 
done  gone  en  lef  'im.  Hit's  de  busy  season  wid 
me,  but  I'll  set  up  wid  'im.  He  seem  like  he 
dead,  yet  he  mayn't  be,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 
'Wen  a  man  go  ter  see  dead  fokes,  dead  fokes 
allers  raises  up  der  behime  leg  en  hollers,  wahoo  ! ' 
sezee. 

"  Brer  Fox  he  stay  still.  Den  Brer  Fiabbit  he 
talk  little  louder  : 

" '  Mighty  funny.  Brer  Fox  look  like  he  dead, 
yit  he  don't  do  like  he  dead.  Dead  fokes  hists  der 
behime  leg  en  hollers  ivahoo  !  w'en  a  man  come 
ter  see  um,'  sez  Brer  Rabbit,  sezee. 

"  Sho'  nuff.  Brer  Fox  lif  up  his  foot  en  holler 
wahoo  !  en  Brer  Rabbit  he  tear  out  de  house  like 
de  dogs  wuz  atter  'im.  Brer  Wolf  mighty  smart, 
but  nex'  time  you  hear  fum  'im,  honey,  he'll  be  in 
trouble.    You.  des  hole  yo'  breff'n  wait." 


FIRST   BLOOD. 


]53 


FIEST     BLOOD. 


[Fioin  "  The  Deerslayer." 

I  EERSLAYER'S  attention  was  first  given 
to  the  canoe  head.  It  was  already  quite 
near  the  dangerous  point,  and  a  very  few 


strokes  of  the  paddle  sufficed  to  tell  him 
that  it  must  touch  before  he  could  possibly 
overtake  it.  Just  at  this  moment,  too,  the 
wind  inopportunely  freshened,  rendering  the 
drift  of  the  light  craft  much  more  rapid  and 
certain.  Feeling  the  impossibility  of  preventing  a 
contact  with  the  land,  the  young  man  wisely  deter- 
mined not  to  heat  himself  with  unnecessary  exer- 
tions ;  but,  first  looking  to  the  priming  of  his 
piece,  he  proceeded  slowly  and  warily  towards  the 
point,  taking  care  to  make  a  little  circuit,  that  he 
might  be  exposed  on  only  one  side  as  he  approached. 
The  canoe  adrift,  being  directed  by  no  such 
intelligence,  pursued  its  proper  way,  and  grounded 
on  a  small  sunken  rock,  at  the  distance  of  three  or 
four  yards  from  the  shore.  Just  at  this  moment 
Deerslayer  had  got  abreast  of  the  point,  and  turned 
the  bows  of  his  own  boat  to  the  land  ;  first  casting 
loose  his  tow,  that  his  movements  might  be  unen- 
cumbered. The  canoe  hung  an  instant  on  the  rock  ; 
then  it  rose  a  hair's-breadth  on  an  almost  imper- 
ceptible swell  of  the  water,  swung  round,  floated 
clear,  and  reached  the  strand.  All  this  the  young 
man  noted,  but  it  neither  quickened  his  pulses  nor 
hastened  his  hand.  If  any  one  had  been  lying  in 
wait  for  the  arrival  of  the  waif  he  must  be  seen, 
and  the  utmost  caution  in  approaching  the  shore  be- 
came indispensable  ;  if  no  one  was  in  ambush,  hiirry 
v,'as  unnecessary.  The  point  beingnearly  diagonally 
opposite  to  the  Indian  encampment,  he  hoped  the 
last,  though  the  former  was  not  only  possible,  but 
probable  ;  for  the  savages  were  prompt  in  adopting 
all  the  expedients  of  their  particular  modes  of  war- 
fare, and  quite  likely  had  many  scouts  searching 
the  shores  for  craft  to  carry  them  off  to  the  castle. 
As  a  glance  at  the  lake  from  any  height  or  projec- 
tion would  expose  the  smallest  objects  on  its  sur- 
face, there  was  little  hope  that  either  of  the  canoes 
could  pass  unseen,  and  Indian  sagacity  needed  no 
instruction  to  tell  which  way  a  boat  or  a  log  would 
drift,  when  the  direction  of  the  wind  was  known. 
As  Deerslayer  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  land, 
the  stroke  of  his  paddle  grew  slower,  his  eye  became 
more  watchful,  and  his  ears  and  nostrils  almost 
dilated  with  the  effort  to  detect  any  lurking  danger. 
'Twas  a  trying  moment  for  a  novice,  nor  was  there 
the  encouragement  which  even  the  timid  sometimes 
feel,  when  conscious  of  being  observed  and  com- 
mended. He  was  entirely  alone,  thrown  on  his 
own  resources,  and  was  cheered  by  no  friendly  eye, 
•emboldened  by  no  encouraging  voice.  Notwith- 
T 


By  J.  Febimoee  CooPKtt.] 

standing  all  these  circumstances,  the  most  expe- 
rienced veteran  in  forest  warfare  could  not  have 
conducted  himself  better.  Equally  free  from 
recklessness  and  hesitation,  his  advance  was 
marked  by  a  sort  of  philosophical  prudence,  that 
appeared  to  render  him  superior  to  all  motives  but 
those  which  were  best  calculated  to  effect  his 
purpose.  Such  was  the  commencement  of  a  career 
in  forest  exploits,  that  afterwards  rendered  this 
man,  in  his  way,  and  under  the  limits  of  his  habits 
and  opportunities,  as  renowned  as  many  a  hero 
whose  name  has  adorned  the  pages  of  works  more 
celebrated  than  legends  simple  as  ours  can  ever 
become. 

When  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  shore, 
Deerslayer  rose  in  the  canoe,  gave  three  or  four 
vigorous  strokes  with  the  paddle,  sufficient  of 
themselves  to  impel  the  bark  to  land,  and  then, 
quickly  laying  aside  the  instruments  of  labour,  he 
seized  that  of  war.  He  was  in  the  very  act  of 
raising  the  rifle,  when  a  sharp  report  was  followed 
by  the  buzz  of  a  bullet  that  passed  so  near  his 
body  as  to  cause  him  involuntarily  to  start.  The 
next  instant  Deerslayer  staggered,  and  fell  his 
whole  length  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe.  A  yell — 
it  came  from  a  single  voice — followed,  and  an 
Indian  leaped  from  the  bushes  upon  the  open  area 
of  the  point,  bounding  towards  the  canoe.  This 
was  the  moment  the  young  man  desired.  He  rose 
on  the  instant,  and  levelled  his  own  rifle  at  his  un- 
covered foe  ;  but  his  finger  hesitated  about  pulling 
the  trigger  on  one  whom  he  held  at  such  a  disad- 
vantage. This  little  delay  probably  saved  the  life 
of  the  Indian,  who  bounded  back  into  the  cover  as 
swiftly  as  he  had  broken  out  of  it.  In  the  mean- 
time Deerslayer  had  been  swiftly  approaching  the 
land,  and  his  own  canoe  reached  the  point  just  as 
his  enemy  disappeared.  As  its  movements  had  not 
been  directed,  it  touched  the  shore  a  few  yards 
from  the  other  boat ;  and  though  the  rifle  of  his 
foe  had  to  be  loaded,  there  was  not  time  to  secure 
his  prize  and  to  carry  it  beyond  danger  before  he 
would  be  exposed  to  another  shot.  Under  the 
circumstances,  therefore,  he  did  not  pause  an 
instant,  but  dashed  into  the  woods  and  sought  a 
cover. 

Deerslayer  knew  that  his  adversary  must  be 
employed  in  re-loading  unless  he  had  fled.  The 
former  proved  to  be  the  case,  for  the  young  man 
had  no  sooner  placed  himself  behind  a  tree,  than 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  arm  of  the  Indian,  his 
body  being  concealed  by  an  oak,  in  the  very  act  of 
forcing  the  leathered  bullet  home.  Nothing  would 
have  been  easier  than  to  spring  forward,  and  decide 


154 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


the  affair  by  a  close  assault  on  his  unprejiared  foe; 
but  every  feeling  of  Deerslayer  revolted  at  such  a 
step,  although  his  own  life  had  just  been  attempted 
from  a  cover.  He  was  yet  unpractised  in  the  ruth- 
less expedients  of  savage  warfare,  of  which  he  knew 
nothing  except  by  tradition  and  theory,  and  it 
struck  him  as  an  unfair  advantage  to  assail  an  un- 
armed foe.  His  colour  had  heightened,  his  eye 
frowned,  his  lips  were  compressed,  and  all  his 
energies  were  collected  and  ready  ;  but,  instead  of 
advancing  to  fire,  he  dropped  his  rifle  to  the  usual 
position  of  a  sportsman  in  readiness  to  catch  his 
aim,  and  muttered  to  himself,  unconscious  that  he 
was  speaking — 

"  No,  no—  that  may  be  red -skin  warfare,  but  it's 
not  a  Christian's  gifts.  Let  the  miscreant  charge, 
and  then  we'll  take  it  out  like  men  ;  for  the  canoe 
he  nuist  not,  and  shall  not  have.  No,  no  ;  let  him 
have  time  to  load,  and  God  will  take  care  of  the 
right  ! " 

All  this  time  the  Indian  had  been  so  intent  on 
his  own  movements,  that  he  was  even  ignorant 
that  his  enemy  was  in  the  wood.  His  only  appre- 
hension was,  that  the  canoe  would  be  recovered  and 
carried  away,  before  he  might  be  in  readiness  to 
prevent  it.  He  had  sought  the  cover  from  habit, 
but  was  within  a  few  feet  of  the  fringe  of  bushes, 
and  could  be  at  the  margin  of  the  forest,  in  readi- 
ness to  fire  in  a  moment. 

His  rifle  was  no  sooner  loaded,  than  the  savage 
glanced  around  him,  and  advanced  incautiously  as 
regarded  the  real,  but  stealthily  as  respected  the 
fancied  position  of  his  enemy,  until  he  was  fairly 
exposed.  Then  Deerslayer  stepped  from  behind 
his  own  cover  and  hailed  him. 

"  This-a-way,  red-skin  :  this-a-way,  if  you're 
looking  for  me,"  he  called  out ;  "  I'm  young  in 
war,  but  not  so  young  as  to  stand  on  an  open  beach 
to  be  shot  down  like  an  owl  by  daylight.  It  rests 
on  yourself  whether  it's  peace  or  war  atween  us ; 
for  my  gifts  are  white  gifts,  and  I'm  not  one  of 
them  that  thinks  it  valiant  to  slay  human  mortals 
singly  in  the  woods." 

The  savage  was  a  good  deal  startled  by  this 
sudden  discovery  of  the  danger  he  ran.  He  had  a 
little  knowledge  of  English,  however,  and  caught 
the  drift  of  the  other's  meaning.  He  was  also  too 
well  schooled  to  betray  alarm,  but  dropping  the 
butt  of  his  rifle  to  the  earth,  with  an  air  of  confi- 
dence he  made  a  gesture  of  lofty  courtesy.  All  this 
was  done  with  the  ease  and  self-possession  of  one 
accustomed  to  consider  no  man  his  superior.  In 
the  midst  of  this  consummate  acting,  however,  the 
volcano  that  raged  within  caused  his  eyes  to  glare, 
and  his  nostrils  to  dilate,  like  those  of  some  wild 
beast  that  is  suddenly  prevented  from  taking  the 
fatal  leap. 

"  Two  canoe,"  he  said  in  the  deep  guttural  tones 
of  his  race,  holding  up  the  number  of  fingers  he 


mentioned,  by  way  of  preventing  mistakes  :  "  one 
for  you — one  for  me." 

"  No,  no,  Mingo,  that  will  never  do.  You  own 
neither  ;  and  neither  shall  you  have,  as  long  as  I 
can  prevent  it.  I  know  it's  war  atween  your 
people  and  mine,  but  that's  no  reason  why  human 
mortals  should  slay  each  other,  like  savage 
creature  that  meet  in  the  woods ;  go  your  way 
then,  and  leave  me  to  go  mine.  The  world  is 
large  enough  for  us  both  ;  and  when  we  meet  fairly 
in  battle,  why,  the  Lord  will  order  the  fate  of  each 
of  us." 

"  Good  !"  exclaimed  the  Indian  ;  "  my  brother 
missionary — great  talk  ;  all  about  Manitou." 

"  Not  so,  not  so,  warrior.  I'm  not  good  enough 
for  the  Moravians,  and  am  too  good  for  most  of  the 
other  vagabonds  that  preach  about  in  the  woods. 
No,  no,  I'm  only  a  hunter  as  yet,  though  afore  the 
peace  is  made,  'tis  like  enough  there'll  be  occasion 
to  strike  a  blow  at  some  of  your  people.  Still,  I 
wish  it  to  be  done  in  fair  fight,  and  not  in  a  quarrel 
about  the  ownership  of  a  canoe." 

"  Good  !  My  brother  very  young,  but  he  very 
wise.  Little  warrior — great  talker.  Chief  some- 
times in  council." 

"  I  don't  know  this,  nor  do  I  say  it,  Indian," 
returned  Deerslayei',  colouring  a  little  at  the  ill- 
concealed  sarcasm  of  the  other's  manner  :  "  I  look 
forward  to  a  life  in  the  woods,  and  I  only  hope  it 
may  be  a  peaceable  one.  All  young  men  must  go 
on  the  war-path,  when  there's  occasion,  but  war 
isn't  needfully  massacre.  I've  seen  enough  of  the 
last,  this  very  night,  to  know  that  Providence 
frowns  on  it ;  and  I  now  invite  you  to  go  your  own 
way,  while  I  go  mine  ;  and  hope  that  we  may  part 
fri'nds." 

"  Good  !  My  brother  has  two  scalp — grey  hair 
under  t'other.    Old  wisdom — young  tongue." 

Here  the  savage  advanced  with  confidence,  his 
hand  extended,  his  face  smiling,  and  his  whole 
bearing  denoting  amity  and  respect.  Deerslayer 
met  his  offered  friendship  in  a.  proper  spirit,  and 
they  shook  hands  cordially,  each  endeavouring  to 
assure  the  other  of  his  sincerity  and  desire  to  be  at 
peace. 

"  All  have  his  own,"  said  the  Indian ;  "  my  canoe, 
mine  ;  your  canoe,  your'n.  Go  look  ;  if  your'n,  you 
keep  ;  if  mine,  I  keep." 

"  That's  just,  red-skin  ;  though  you  must  be 
wrong  in  thinking  the  canoe  your  property.  How- 
soever, seein'  is  belie\dn',  and  we'll  go  down  to  the 
shore,  where  you  may  look  with  your  own  eyes  ; 
for  it's  likely  you'll  object  to  trustin'  altogether  to 
mine." 

The  Indian  uttered  his  favourite  exclamation  of 
"  good,"  and  then  they  walked,  side  by  side,  towards 
the  shore.  There  was  no  apparent  distrust  in  the 
manner  of  either,  the  Indian  moving  in  advance, 
as  if  he  wished  to  show  his  companion  that  he  did 


THE   SAVAGE   HURLED   HIS   KEEN   WEAPON. 


•FlltST  BLOOD"  (p    156). 


FIRST   BLOOD. 


155 


not  fear  turning  his  back  to  him.  As  they  reached 
the  open  ground,  the  former, pointed  towards  Deer- 
.slayer's  boat,  and  said,  emphatically — 

"No  mine^pale-face  canoe.  This  red  man's. 
No  want  other  man's  canoe— want  his  own." 

"  You're  wrong,  red-skin ;  you're  altogether 
wrong.  This  canoe  was  left  in  old  Hutter's  keep- 
ing, and  is  his'n,  according  to  all  law,  red  or  white, 
till  its  owner  conies  to  claim  it.  Here's  the  seats 
and  the  stitching  of  the  bark  to  speak  for  them- 
selves. No  man  ever  know'd  an  Indian  to  turn 
off  such  work." 

"  Good  !  My  brother  little  old— big  wisdom. 
Indian  no  make  him.     White  man's  work," 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,  for  holding  out  to  the 
contrary  might  have  made  ill-blood  atween  us, 
every  one  having  a  right  to  take  possession  of 
his  own.  I'll  just  shove  the  canoe  out  of  reach 
of  dispute  at  once,  as  the  quickest  way  of  settling 
difficulties." 

While  Deerslayer  was  speaking,  he  put  a  foot 
against  the  end  of  the  light  boat,  and  giving  a 
vigorous  shove  he  sent  it  out  into  the  lake  a 
hundred  feet  or  more,  where,  taking  the  true 
current,  it  would  necessarily  float  past  the  point, 
and  be  in  no  further  danger  of  coming  ashore. 
The  .savage  started  at  this  ready  and  decided 
expedient,  and  his  companion  saw  that  he  cast 
a  hurried  and  fierce  glance  at  his  own  canoe, 
or  that  which  contained  the  paddles.  The  change 
of  manner,  however,  was  but  momentary,  and  then 
the  Iroquois  resumed  his  air  of  friendliness  and  a 
smile  of  satisfaction. 

"  Good  !"  he  repeated,  with  stronger  emphasis 
than  ever.  "  Young  head,  old  mind.  Know  how  to 
settle  quarrel.  Farewell,  brother.  He  go  to  house 
in  water — musk-rat  house— Indian  go  to  camp  ; 
tell  chief  no  find  canoe." 

Deerslayer  was  not  sorry  to  hear  this,  and  took 
the  proffered  hand  of  the  Indian  very  willingly. 
The  parting  words  were  friendly  ;  and  while  the 
red  man  walked  calmly  towards  the  wood,  with  the 
rifle  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  without  once  looking 
back  in  uneasiness  or  distrust,  the  white  man 
moved  towards  the  remaining  canoe,  carrying  his 
piece  in  the  same  pacific  manner,  it  is  true,  but 
keeping  his  eyes  fastened  on  the  movements  of  the 
other.  This  distrust,  however,  seemed  to  be 
altogether  uncalled  for,  and,  as  if  ashamed  have  to 
entertained  it,  the  young  man  averted  his  look, 
and  stepped  carelessly  up  to  his  boat.  Here  he 
began  to  push  the  canoe  from  the  shore,  and  to 
make  his  other  preparations  for  departing.  He 
might  have  been  thus  employed  a  minute,  when, 
happening  to  turn  his  face  towards  the  land,  his 
quick  and  certain  eye  told  him  at  a  glance  the 
imminent  jeopardy  in  which  his  life  was  placed. 
The  black,  ferocious  eyes  of  the  savage  were 
glancing  on  him,  like  those  of  the  crouching  tiger. 


through  a  small  opening  in  the  bushes,  and  the 
muzzle  of  his  rifle  seemed  already  to  be  opening 
in  a  line  with  his  own  body. 

Then,  indeed,  the  long  practice  of  Deerslayer, 
as  a  hunter,  did  him  good  service.  Accustomed  to 
fire  with  the  deer  on  the  bound,  and  often  when 
the  precise  position  of  the  animal's  body  had  in  a 
manner  to  be  guessed  at,  he  used  the  same  expe- 
dients here.  To  cock  and  poise  his  rifle  were  the  acts 
of  a  single  moment  and  a  single  motion  :  then, 
aiming  almost  without  sighting,  he  fired  into  the 
bushes  where  he  knew  a  body  ought  to  be,  in  order 
to  sustain  the  appalling  countenance  which  alone 
was  visible.  There  was  not  time  to  raise  the  piece 
any  higher,  or  to  take  a  more  deliberate  aim.  So 
rapid  were  his  movements  that  both  parties  dis- 
charged their  pieces  on  the  same  instant,  the  con- 
cussions mingling  in  one  report.  The  mountains, 
indeed,  gave  back  but  a  single  echo.  Deerslayer 
dropped  his  piece,  and  stood  with  head  erect,  steady 
as  one  of  the  pines  in  the  calm  of  a  June  morn- 
ing, watching  the  result :  while  the  savage  gave 
the  yell  that  has  become  historical  for  its  appal- 
ling influence,  leaped  through  the  bushes,  and 
came  bounding  across  the  open  ground,  flourishing 
a  tomahawk.  Still  Deerslayer  moved  not,  but  stood 
with  his  unloaded  rifle  fallen  against  his  shoulders, 
while,  with  a  hunter's  habits,  his  hands  weie 
mechanically  feeling  for  the  powder-horn  and 
charger.  When  about  forty  feet  from  his  enemy, 
the  savage  hurled  his  keen  weapon  ;  but  it  was 
with  an  eye  so  vacant,  and  a  hand  so  unsteady  and 
feeble,  that  the  young  man  caught  it  by  the  handle 
as  it  was  flying  past  him.  At  that  instant  the 
Indian  staggered,  and  fell  his  whole  length  on  the 
ground. 

"  I  know'd  it — I  know'd  it !"  exclaimed  Deer- 
slayer, who  was  already  preparing  to  force  a  fresh 
bullet  into  his  rifle  ;  "  I  know'd  it  must  come  to 
this  as  soon  as  I  had  got  the  range  from  the 
creatur's  eyes.  A  man  sights  suddenly,  and  fires 
when  his  own  life's  in  danger ;  yes,  I  know'd  it 
would  come  to  this.  I  was  about  the  hundredth 
part  of  a  second  too  quick  for  him,  or  it  might  have 
been  bad  for  me  !  The  riptyle's  bullet  has  just 
grazed  my  side — but,  say  what  you  will,  for  or 
ag'in  'em,  a  red-skin  is  by  no  means  as  sartain  with 
povi^der  and  ball  as  a  white  man.  Their  gifts  don't 
seem  to  lie  that-a-way.  Even  Chingachgook,  great 
as  he  is  in  other  matters,  isn't  downright  deadly 
with  the  rifle." 

By  this  time  the  piece  was  re-loaded,  and  Deer- 
slayer, after  tossing  the  tomahawk  into  the  canoe, 
advanced  to  his  victim,  and  stood  over  him,  lean- 
ing on  his  rifle  in  melancholy  attention.  It  was 
the  first  instance  in  which  he  had  seen  a  man  fall 
in  battle— it  was  the  first  fellow-creature  against 
whom  he  had  ever  seriously  raised  his  own  hand. 
The  sensations  were  novel ;   and  regret,  with  the 


156 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


freshness  of  our  better  feelings,  mingled  with  his 
triumph.  The  Indian  was  not  dead,  though  shot 
directly  through  the  body.  He  lay  on  his  back 
motionless,  but  his  eyes,  now  full  of  consciousness, 
watched  each  action  of  his  victor — as  the  fallen 
bird  regards  the  fowler— jealous  of  every  move- 
ment. The  man  probably  expected  the  fatal  blow 
which  was  to  precede  the  loss  of  his  scalp  ;  or 
perhaps  he  antici- 
pated that  tliis  latter 
act  of  cruelty  would 
precede  his  death. 
Deerslayer  read  his 
thoughts,  and  he 
found  a  melancholy 
satisfaction  in  reliev- 
ing the  apprehen- 
sions of  the  helpless 
savage. 

"No, no,  red-skin," 
he  said ;  "  you've 
nothing  more  to  fear 
from  me.  I  am  of 
a  Christian  stock, 
and  scalping  is  not 
of  my  gifts.  I'll  just 
make  sartain  of  your 
rifle,  and  then  come 
back  and  do  you 
what  sarvice  I  can. 
Though  here  I  can't 
stay  much  longer, 
as  the  crack  of  three 
rifles  w^iU  be  apt  to 
bring  some  of  your 
devils  down  upon 
me." 

The  close  of  this 
was  said  in  a  sort 
of  soliloquy,  as  the 
young  man  went  in 
quest  o.f  the  fallen 
rifle.  The  piece  was 
found  where  its 
owner  had  dropped 
it,  and  was  immedi- 
ately put  into  the  canoe.  La;ying  his  own  rifle  at 
its  side,  Deerslayer  then  returned,  and  stood  over 
the  Indian  again. 

"  All  inmity  atween  you  and  me's  at  an  ind,  red- 
skin," he  said ;  "  and  you  may  set  your  heart  at 
rest  on  the  score  of  the  scalp,  or  any  further 
injury.  My  gifts  are  white,  as  I've  told  you ;  and 
I  hope  my  conduct  will  be  white  also  !  " 

Could  looks  have  conveyed  all  they  meant,  it  is 
probable  that  Deerslayer's  innocent  vanity  on  the 
subject  of  colour  would  have  been  rebuked  a 
little  ;  but  he  comprehended  the  gratitude  that 
was  expressed  in  the  eyes  of  the  dying  savage, 


Deerslayer  stood  over  him. 


without  detecting  in  the  least  the  bitter  sarcasm 
that  struggled  with  the  better  feeling. 

"  Water  !"  ejaculated  the  thirsty  and  unfortunate 
creature  ;  "  give  poor  Indian  water." 

"Ay,  water  you  shall  have,  if  you  drink  the 
lake  dry.  I'll  just  carry  you  down  to  it,  that 
you  may  take  your  fill.  This  is  the  way,  they 
tell  me,  with  all  wounded  people — water  is  their 

greatest  comfort  and  ' 
delight." 

So  saying,  Deer- 
slayer raised  the 
Indian  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  him  to  the 
lake.  Here  he  first 
helped  him  to  take 
an  attitude  in  which 
he  could  appease  his 
burning  thirst  ;  after 
which  he  seated  him- 
self on  a  stone,  and 
took  the  head  of  his 
wounded  adversary 
in  his  own  lap,  and  en- 
deavoured to  soothe 
his  anguish  in  the 
best  manner  he  could. 
"  It  would  be  sinful 
in  me  to  tell  you  your 
time  hadn't  come, 
warrior,"  he  com- 
menced, "  and  there- 
fore I'll  not  say  it. 
You've  passed  the 
middle  age  already, 
and  considerin'  the 
sort  of  lives  ye  lead, 
your  days  have  been 
pretty  well  filled. 
The  principal  thing 
now  is  to  look  for- 
ward to  what  comes 
next.  Neither  red- 
skin nor  pale-face,  on 
the  whole,  calculates 
much  on  sleepin'  for 
ever ;  but  both  expect  to  live  in  another  world. 
Each  has  his  gifts,  and  each  will  be  judged  by  'em, 
and  I  suppose  you've  thought  these  matter^  over 
enough,  not  to  stand  in  need  of  sarmons,  when 
the  trial  comes.  You'll  find  your  happy  hunting 
grounds  if  you've  been  a  just  Indian  ;  if  an  unjust, 
you'll  meet  your  desarts  in  another  way.  I've  my 
own  ideas  about  these  things  ;  but  you're  too  old 
and  exper'enced  to  need  any  explanations  from 
one  as  young  as  I." 

"  Good  ! "  ejaculated  the  Indian,  whose  voice 
retained  its  depth  even  as  life  ebbed  away; 
"  young  head — old  wisdom  !" 


FIRST   BLOOD. 


157 


"  It's  sometimes  a  consolation,  when  the  ind 
comes,  to  know  that  them  we've  harmed  or  tried 
to  harm,  forgive  us.  I  suppose  iiatur'  seeks  this 
relief  by  way  of  getting  a  pardon  on  'arth  ;  as  we 
never  can  know  whether  He  pardons,  who  is  all  in 
all,  till  judgment  itself  comes.  It's  soothing  to 
know  that  any  pardon  at  such  times  ;  and  that,  I 
conclude,  is  the  secret.  Now,  as  for  myself,  I 
t.  overlook  altogether  your  designs  ag'in  my  life; 
first,  because  no  harm  came  of  'em  ;  next,  because 
it's  your  gifts,  and  natur',  and  trainin',  and  I  ought 
not  to  have  trusted  you  at  all  ;  and  finally  and 
chiefly  because  I  can  bear  no  ill-will  to  a  dying  man, 
whether  heathen  or  Christian.  So  put  your  heart  at 
ease,  so  far  as  I'm  consarned ;  you  know  best  what 
other  matters  ought  to  trouble  you,  or  what  ought 
to  give  you  satisfaction,  in  so  trying  a  moment." 

It  is  probable  that  the  Indian  had  some  of  the 
fearful  glimpses  of  the  unknown  state  of  being 
which  God,  in  mercy,  seems  at  times  to  afford  to 
all  the  human  race  ;  but  they  were  necessarily  in 
conformity  with  his  habits  and  prejudices.  Like 
most  of  his  people,  and  like  too  many  of  our  own, 
bethought  more  of  dying  in  a  way  to  gain  ap- 
plause among  those  he  left,  than  to  secure  a  better 
state  of  existence  hereafter.  While  Deerslayer 
was  speaking,  his  mind  was  a  little  bewildered, 
though  he  felt  that  the  intention  was  good  ;  and 
when  he  had  done,  a  regret  passed  over  his  spirit 
that  none  of  his  own  tribe  were  present  to  witness 
his  stoicism,  under  extreme  bodily  suffering,  and 
the  firmness  with  which  he  met  his  end.  With  the 
high,  innate  courtesy  that  so  often  distinguishes 
the  Indian  warrior  before  he  becomes  corrupted  by 
too  much  intercourse  with  the  worst  class  of  the 
white  men,  he  endeavoured  to  express  his  thank- 
fulness for  the  other's  good  intentions,  and  to  let 
him  understand  that  they  were  appreciated. 

"  Good  !"  he  repeated — for  this  was  an  English 
word  much  used  by  the  savages — "good — young 
head  ;  young  heart,  too.  Old  heart  tough  ;  no  shed 
tear.  Hear  Indian  when  he  die,  and  no  want  to 
lie — what  he  call  him  f 

"  Deerslayer  is  the  name  I  bear  now,  though  the 
Delawares  have  said  that  when  I  get  back  from  this 
war-path,  I  shall  have  a  more  manly  title,  provided 
I  can  'arn  one." 

"  That  good  name  for  boy — poor  name  for  warrior. 
He  get  better  quick.  No  fear  there  " — the  savage 
had  strength  sufficient,  under  the  strong  excite- 
ment he  felt,  to  raise  a  hand  and  tap  the  young 
man  on  his  breast — "  eye  sartain — finger  lightning 
— aim  death — great  warrior  soon.  No  Deerslayer 
— Hawkeye — Hawkeye — Hawkeye.     Shake  hand." 

Deerslayer — or  Hawkeye,  as  the  youth  was  then 
first  named,  for  in  after  years  he  bore  the  appella- 
tion throiighout  all  that  region — Deerslayer  took 
the  hand  of  the  savage,  whose  last  breath  was 
drawn  in  that  attitude,  gazing  in  admiration  at  the 


countenance  of  a  stranger  who  had  shown  so  much 
readmess,  skill,  and  firmness  in  a  scene  that  was 
equally  trying  and  novel.  When  the  reader  re- 
members it  is  the  highest  gratification  an  Indian 
can  receive  to  see  his  enemy  betray  weakness,  he 
will  be  better  able  to  appreciate  the  conduct 
which  had  extorted  so  great  a  concession  at  such 
a  moment. 

"  His  spirit  has  fled  !"  said  Deerslayer,  in  a  sup- 
pressed, melancholy  voice.  "  Ahs  me  !  Well,  to 
this  we  must  all  come,  sooner  or  later  ;  and  he  is 
happiest,  let  his  skin  be  of  what  colour  it  may,  who 
is  best  fitted  to  meet  it.  Here  lies  the  body  of,  no 
doubt,  a  brave  warrior,  and  the  soul  is  already  fly- 
ing towards  its  heaven  or  hell,  whether  that  be  a 
happy  hunting-ground,  or  a  place  scant  of  game  ; 
regions  of  glory,  according  to  Moravian  doctrine, 
or  flames  of  fire  !  So  it  happens,  too,  as  regards 
other  matters  !  Here  have  old  Hutter  and  Hurry 
Harry  got  themselves  into  a  difficulty,  if  they 
haven't  got  themselves  into  torment  and  death, 
and  all  for  a  bounty  that  luck  offers  to  me  in  what 
many  would  think  a  lawful  and  suitable  manner. 
But  not  a  farthing  of  such  money  shall  cross  my 
hand.  White  I  was  born,  and  white  will  I  die ; 
clinging  to  colour  to  the  last,  even  though  the 
King's  Majesty,  his  governors,  and  all  his  councils, 
both  at  home  and  in  the  colonies,  forget  from  what 
they  come,  and  where  they  hope  to  go,  and  all  for 
a  little  advantage  in  warfare.  No,  no,  warrior,  hand 
of  mine  shall  never  molest  your  scalp,  and  so  your 
soul  may  rest  in  peace  on  the  p'int  of  making  a 
decent  appearance,  when  your  body  comes  to  join 
it  in  your  own  land  of  spirits." 

Deerslayer  arose  as  soon  as  he  had  spoken.  Then 
he  placed  the  body  of  the  dead  man  in  a  sitting 
posture,  with  its  back  against  the  little  rock,  taking 
the  necessary  care  to  prevent  it  from  falling  or  in 
any  way  settling  into  an  attitude  that  might  be 
thought  unseemly  by  the  sensitive  though  wild 
notions  of  a  savage.  When  this  duty  was  per- 
formed, the  young  man  stood  gazing  at  the  grim 
countenance  of  his  fallen  foe  in  a  sort  of  melancholy 
abstraction.  As  was  his  practice,  however,  a  habit 
gained  by  living  so  much  alone  in  the  forest,  he  then 
began  again  to  give  utterance  to  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  aloud. 

"  I  didn't  wish  your  life,  red-skin,"  he  said, "  but 
you  left  me  no  choice  atween  killing  or  being 
killed.  Each  party  acted  according  to  his  gifts,  I 
suppose,  and  blame  can  light  on  neither.  ¥ou  were 
treacherous,  according  to  your  natur'  in  war,  and 
I  was  a  little  over-sightful,  as  I'm  apt  to  be  in 
trusting  others.  Well,  this  is  my  first  battle  with  a 
human  mortal,  though  it's  not  likely  to  be  the  last. 
I  have  fou't  most  of  the  creaturs  of  the  forest,  such 
as  bears,  wolves,  painters  and  catamounts,  but  this 
is  the  beginning  with  the  red-skins.  If  I  was 
Indian  born,  now,  I  might  tell  of  this,  or  carry  in 


158 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


the  scalp,  and  boast  of  the  expli'te  afore  the  whole 
tribe  :  or  if  my  ininiy  had  ouly  been  even  a  bear, 
'twould  have  been  nat'ral  and  proper  to  let  every- 
body know  what  had  happened  ;  bnt  I  don't  well 
see  how  I'm  to  let  even  Chingachgook  into  this 
secret,  so  long  as  it  can  be  done  only  by  boasting 
with  a  white  tongue.  And  why  should  I  wish  to 
boast  of  it  after  all  ?  It's  slaying  a  human,  although 
he  was  a  savage  ;  and  how  do  I  know  that  he  was 
a  just  Indian,  and  that  he  has  not  been  taken 
away  suddenly  to  anything  but  happy  hunting- 
grounds  1  When  it's  onsartain  whether  good  or  evil 
has  been  done,  the  wisest  way  is  not  to  be  boastful. 
Still,  I  should  like  Chingachgook  to  know  that  I  ! 
haven't  discredited  the  Dela wares  or  my  training.''  I 


Soliloquy  and  reflection  received  a  startling  in- 
terruption, however,  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
a  second  Indian  on  the  lake  shore,  a  few  hundied 
yards  from  the  point.  This  man,  evidently  another 
scout,  who  liad  probably  been  drawn  to  the  phice 
by  the  reports  of  the  rifles,  broke  out  of  the  forest 
with  so  little  caution,  that  Deerslayer  caught  a  view 
of  his  person  before  he  himself  was  discovered. 
When  the  latter  event  did  occur,  as  was  the  case  a 
moment  later,  the  savage  gave  a  loud  yell,  which 
was  answered  by  a  dozen  voices  from  diff"erent 
parts  of  the  mountain -side.  There  was  no  longer 
any  time  for  delay,  and  in  another  minute  thel;oat 
was  quittingthe  shore  under  long  and  steady  swcejjs 
of  the  paddle. 


MY      MIS 

[By    BiCHARD 

I  HE  rector  tells  me  I  am  wasting  my 
time  and  my  opportunities  of  doing 
good  in  the  world.  Good  man,  the 
rector.  I  have  a  great  respect  for 
him.  Wonder  if  he  is  right.  What 
do  I  do?  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
nothing.  I  lounge  throiigh  life.  It 
is  almo.st  a  pity  my  poor  father  left 
me  so  comfortably  provided  for.  I 
might  have  had  a  career — might  have  got  into 
Parliament,  or  written  for  the  reviews.  As  it  is? 
my  only  possible  next  step  is  marriage,  and  I  am 
not  so  sure  that  that  would  be  a  lasting  preserva- 
tive against  ennui.  It  is  all  very  well  for  the 
rector  to  talk,  but  what  can  I  do  1  That  question 
ought  to  i)Ose  him. 

Mem. — Put  it  to  him  next  time. 

**#♦*♦ 
Says  that,  with  my  means  and  my  leisure,  I 
might  be   of   the    greatest    assistance  in  parish 
work.      Pressed  to  be  more  explicit,  says,  '"In 
\'isiting  the  poor." 

I  look  helpless  and  bewildered. 
"  In  making  yourself  acquainted  with  the  wants 
and  the  weaknesses  of  that  class,"  pursues  the 
rector,  "and  doing  something  to  remedy  them." 

"  I  have  always  been  ready  to  put  money  in  the 
plate  ^^r  charity  sermons,"  I  urge.  "  I  can't  do 
more." 

Rector  says,  "Yes,  you  can,  you  might  distri- 
bute your  gifts  yourself,  and  the  sympathy  of  your 
presence  would  enhance  their  value  a  hundred- 
fold ;  or  better  stLU,  keep  your  money  in  your 
pocket,  and  give  only  the  money's  worth.  Only 
take  care  that  you  form  your  own  estimate  of  the 
wants  you  mean  to  supply." 


TAKES. 

Whiteing.] 

Don't  very  well  know  what  to  say.  It  was 
rather  stupid  to  have  begun  arguing  the  question. 
Observe,  by  way  of  saying  something,  "  But  people 
would  laugh." 

He  looks  grave — is  beginning  to  talk  about  my 
not  doing  justice  to  my  own  character  by  that 
plea.  I  promise  to  think  of  it  and  let  him  know. 
Exit  rector. 

****** 

I'm  booked  for  it.  There  was -no  escaping  him. 
He  came  down  with  a  visitation  charge  about  lay 
helpers  in  one  pocket,  and  a  select  list  of  his  own 
poor  in  the  other.  I  am  to  start  next  Thursday  at 
ten,  and  to  make  notes  of  anything  remarkable,  to 
be  shown  to  him.   Begin  to  think  I'm  very  ignorant. 

In  the  meantime  I  went  out  with  my  man 
Joseph  and  a  bag,  to  buy  a  few  useful  things  to 
take  with  me  as  presents  for  the  poor.  Asked 
Joseph  what  he  thought  would  be  useful.  He 
suggested  "  Dutch  cheeses."  Don't  know  any 
cheeses  of  that  name.  Besides,  can't  take  pro- 
visions.    They  smell. 

Strolled  into  the  dressing-case  maker's,  and 
asked  the  man  there  if  he  had  anything  that  would 
do  for  the  poor.  He  suggested  a  few  cheap  mono- 
grams. Joseph  thought  something  more  in  the 
portable  shaving  apparatus  way.  Was  shown  a 
very  capital  little  contrivance  of  this  kind,  with 
looking-glass  in  the  lid.  Handed  it  to  Joseph. 
Fancy  he  grinned  as  he  put  it  in  the  bag,  but 
shouldn't  like  to  be  positive  about  it. 

The  man  suggested  pen-holders,  a  memorandum 
book,  and  somebody's  Diary  (shilling  size),  half-a- 
dozen  nail-trimmers,  and  a  book-mark. 

Capital !  the  very  things.  Had  them  all  placed 
in  the  bag. 


MY    MISTAKES. 


159 


Asked  the  man  if  he  could  think  of  anything 
else  not  in  his  particular  line  of  trade.  He  ob- 
served that  there  was  a  brushmaker  next  door 
and  perhajis — 

We  went  there. 

Ever  so  many  curious  things  here,  and  all  un- 
doubtedly usefid.  The  brushmaker  said  so.  No- 
ticed one  in  particular,  very  remarkable  —  you 
turned  a  handle,  and  so  on.  Asked  what  it  was. 
"An  egg-whisk." 

Everybody  eats  eggs.  Egg-whisks  must  be 
useful.     Bought  it. 

On  the  same  principle,  bought  a  butter  cooler, 
cucumber  slice,  moderator  lamp-brush,  and  velvet- 
faced  hat-pad  —  a  most  useful  contrivance  for 
putting  a  gloss  on  the  nap.  Fancied  I  caught 
Joseph  grinning  again,  when  ordered  to  take  them 
home  ;  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  be  certain  about 
these  movements,  he  is  so  sly. 

****** 

At  ten  on  Thursday  morning,  disguised  myself 
in  a  cast-off  suit,  and  went  out  with  Joseph  (out 
of  livery)  to  Seven  Dials. 

Seven  Dials  is  near  the  Garrick  Club.  They 
appear  to  sell  birds  there. 

It  is  a  place  altogether  beyond  human  concep- 
tion— that  is  to  say,  you  must  take  it  in  through 
the  senses ;  it  cannot  be  described-  The  people 
lunch  at  barrows  in  the  open  air. 

The  first  name  on  the  rector's  list  is  "  Timothy 
Baker,  23,  Diving  Bell  Court,"  in  this  place.  The 
numbers  are  not  on  the  doors  in  Diving  Bell 
Court ;  they  are  in  all  sorts  of  astonishing  places  ; 
23,  for  instance,  is  on  a  bone  hanging  from  the 
drawing-room  window — an  enormous  bone.  Should 
like  Professor  Owen  to  see  it.  Joseph  said  it  is  a 
false  bone,  but  I  think  he  overrates  the  intelli- 
gence of  these  people  ;  they  are  incapable  of  an 
anatomical  forgery.  I  wonder  what  superstitious 
reverence  attaches  in  their  minds  to  the  display 
of  a  bone.  Joseph  says  it  means  that  they  buy 
bones  there,  and  rags ;  but  that  is  obviously 
absurd.  Who  would  buy  what  everybody  must 
be  so  glad  to  get  rid  of  for  nothing  1  There  are 
certainly  a  great  many  rags  about  the  place,  but  I 
cannot  accept  Joseph's  hypothesis. 

We  walk  into  the  passage  at  23,  and  up-stairs. 
They  appear  to  be  fighting  in  the  drawiag-room  ; 
and  in  the  spare  bed-room  on  the  next  floor,  some 
one  is  haunnering  a  hard  metallic  substance. 
Joseph  suggests  "tinker."  In  the  servants'  bed- 
rooms, above,  all  quiet. 

We  tap  at  door  of  front  room,  where  Baker  lives, 
and  after  subdued  shuffling  of  feet,  soft  woman's 
voice  says,  "  Come  in." 

DESCRIPTIVE    MEMS. 

Don't  believe  there  is  a  right  angle  in  the  place. 
Walls  irregularly  rounded  into  one  another,  with 


heaps  of  rags  and  rubbish  stuffed  into  corners  ) 
ceiling  chipped  and  plastered  out  of  all  semblance 
of  a  plane  ;  floor  forming  little  hillock,  with  crest 
towards  fire-place  and  foot  towards  door ;  table 
neither  in  middle  of  room  nor  in  any  of  corners — 
half-way  between  nothing  and  nothing,  so  to 
speak,  with  no  whereabouts,  in  fact,  admitting  of 
rational  statement ;  chairs  the  same ;  recess  indi- 
cated by  every  instinct  of  nature  as  fitting  one  for 
the  clock — occupied  by  broken  bandbox;  clock 
itself  resting  on  disused  washstand  ;  only  thing 
in  its  place  a  cobbler's  stool,  in  front  of  sloping 
roof  ;  incongruity  even  here — tools  in  tea-tray, 
tea-service  huddled  together  in  disorder  on  lid  of 
box, 

ADDITIONAL    MEMS. 

Strange  man  squatting  on  corner  of  box.  One 
would  say  some  diabolical  art  employed  on  dress 
and  person,  to  spoil  symmetry  and  balance  of 
nature.  Wears  a  shoe  and  a  slipper  (both  lefts). 
Solitary  brace  gives  twisted  appearance  to  trunk. 
Short  black  pipe  draws  mouth  awry  and  spoils 
harmony  of  features. 

Woman  not  quite  so  uneven,  standing  near 
door,  curtsies,  and  says,  "  Beg  pardon,  gentlemen. 
Thought  you  was  the  rent." 

I  explain.  "  Have  come  to  see  if  I  can  be  of 
any  help — at  least  have  come  to  see  them — mutual 
friend  the  rector — very  glad  to  make  their  ac. 
quaintance,"  etc. 

Woman  says,  "Yes,  certainly,  sir,"  in  some 
perturbation.  "  This  is  my  husband,  sir ;  "  points 
to  uneven  man.  "  We  need  it,  I'm  sure,  sir  "  (the 
help).  "Joe,  hand  the  gentleman  that  chair  by 
the  tea-kettle." 

I  should  prefer  to  stand.    I  say  so. 

NOTES  OF  CONVERSATION — VERBATIM. 

The  man  (Joe) :  "  There  ain't  much  choice  of 
chairs,  anyhow;"  pushes  forward  bottomless  frame 
with  foot. 

Self  (amiably  to  woman) :  "  By-the-bye,  won't 
you  introduce  me  to  your  husband  ?  " 

Woman  :  "  Oh,  that's  him,  sir,"  pointing  to 
uneven  man  ;  "  and  them's  our  marriage  lines," 
producing  something  —  rather  think  a  marriage 
certificate — from  a  tea-pot.  Who  wanted  to  see 
that  ]    Not  I,  certainly.     Strangely  irrelevant  ! 

Self  (endeavouring  to  start  new  subject)  :  "  And 
do  you  mean  to  live  here  always  ] " 

Woman :  "  We  shall  stay  till  they-'^it  the 
brokers  in,  sir." 

The  man  (Joe) :  "  The  brokers  ! " 

Mem. — This  is  a  habit  of  his.  He  echoes  last 
words  in  a  meaning  manner,  as  if  he  had  some- 
thing serious  to  add  to  them.  You  wait  for  him, 
and  he  has  nothing  to  add.     Irritating  ! 

Self  (smiling)  :  "  Well,  now,  you'll  forgive  me 
for  saying  so,  but  your  mode  of  living  seems  very 


160 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


irregular.  Don't  you  think  if  I  were  to  give  you 
a  few  simple  articles  of  domestic  use,  it  would 
help  you  to  bring  your  surroundings  into  a  little 
better  order  1 " 

The  man  :  "  Order  ! "  Pay  no  attention  to  him 
this  time. 

Woman  says,  "  Oh  thank  you,  sir.  It's  three 
weeks — nine  shillings."  I  explain — remembering 
what  rector  said.  "  Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  give  you 
any  money." 

Man  repeats  in  muttering  tone,  "Money !  That's 
right,  don't  give  'em  no  money.  They  might  get 
something  to  eat."    Very  unpleasant. 

Woman  checks  him,  and  says  apologetically,  to 
me,  "  He's  always  nasty  when  he  don't  get  his  two 
meals  a-day."     Not  unnatural;  but  why  doesn't 


"  A  small  contrivance  for  cleaning  the  chimney 
of  the  moderator,"  I  explain  as  Joseph  shows 
lamp-brush. 

Dead  silence.  They  look  neither  grateful  nor 
pleased.  Then  man  says  to  woman,  in  sort  of 
stage  whisper,  meant  for  me  to  catch — 

"  Let's  see  ;  I  don't  think  we  shall  have  any  use 
for  it  yet.  The  cat  ain't  finished  the  shoe-brush 
you  give  her  for  dinner  last  week,  has  she,  missis  1" 

Mem. — Hate  that  man. 

"A  Household  'Dairy,'"  says  Joseph— incorrectly 
enough — holding  the  diary  up. 

Uneven  man  t;huckles.  "  Something  for  dinner 
at  last  There's  a  cheese  a  comiu',  missis."  Winks 
at  wife  in  a  way  that  fills  my  whole  soul  with 
liorror  of  him. 


"'  BcrXER   COOLER,'    I   OBSEEVE.' 


he  take  his  meals  regularly,  then  ?  He  ought  to 
have  had  his  breakfast  long  ago. 

Joseph  unpacks  parcel,  brings  out  red  earthen- 
ware jar,  with  moulded  rose  on  lid  for  handle. 
I  hold  it  up  before  them.  "Butter  cooler,"  I 
observe. 

Woman  says  nothing ;  seems  disappointed. 
Man  remarks  out  of  unoccupied  corner  of  mouth, 
"  Well,  who'd  have  thought  that  was  butter  1 " 

"Not  butter,"  I  reply;  "butter  cooler — thing 
for  holding  butter." 

"  Oh,  a  thing  for  holding  butter,"  he  observes, 
in  meaningless  way. 

Hat-pad  offers  opportunity  for  conciliating  him. 
"  Dare  say  you  have  noticed,"  I  say  pleasantly, 
*'  what  a  roughness  even  the  best  of  the  old- 
fashioned  brushes  will  leave  on  the  nap.  I  am 
told  this  will  entirely  remove  it." 

His  reply  is  brutal.  Throws  hat-pad  to  his  wife, 
and  says,  "  Here,  you  take  that,  perhaps  you  wears 
a  beaver — /  don't." 

Most  extraordinary  person ;  but  I  am  deter- 
mined to  show  no  annoyance. 


I  lay  rest  of  things  on  tal)le— nail-trimmer,  pen- 
holders, few  point-preserver  pencils,  etc,  etc, — and 
make  little  speech,  "Shall  come  and  see  them 
again."  "  No  thanks,  I  insist,"  etc.  etc.  Prepare 
to  leave. 

Man's  face  suddenly  assumes  ferocious,  though 
more  natural,  expression,  as  if  he  had  hitherto 
been  playing  a  part.  He  rises  suddenly,  sweeps 
presents  to  floor  with  one  wave  of  his  hand,  and 
says  vehemently  (long  speech,  but  I  can't  forget 
the  words) — "  Look  here,  master,  me  and  my  old 
woman  ain't  had  more  nor  a  cup  o'  tea  and  a  slice 
o'  dry  bread  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  and  this 
is  what  you  brings  to  set  us  right  again.  You 
may  mean  well,  but  you've  got  a  precious  rum 
way  o'  showin'  it ;  for  it  isn't  as  though  the  things 
'ud  pawn.  They  wouldn't  lend  yer  tuppence  on 
that  lot,  bless  yer,  if  you  was  to  pray  to  'em.  Then 
what  earthly  use  are  they  to  people  like  us  ] 
Where's  the  butter  for  the  '  cooler,'  as  you  calls  it, 
and  the  eggs  for  the  '  whisk  ? '  As  for  this  little 
earthenware  machine,  it  may  do  for  bird's-eye, 
when  I  can  get  some  pence  to  fill  it  with ;  and  one 


THE   BELLS. 


161 


•o'  them  other  things  might  make  a  scoop  for  a 
pipe  ;  but  is  it  posserble  that  you  and  your  friend 
has  come  all  this  way  to  make  a  starvin'  couple  a 
present  of  a  gallipot  and  a  tobaccy  stopper  1 " 

Starving  !  Never  thought  of  that.  Good 
gracious  !  Throw  money  on  table.  Leave  hastily. 
Man  calls  out  after  me  down  staircase,  "  You  are 


a  trump,  sir  ! "  Indescribable  perturbation  of 
spirits.     Home  again. 

Mem. — Must  try  again.  No  idea  there  was  so 
much  misery  in  the  world.  Poor  creatures  !  and 
to  offer  them  a  butter  cooler  ! 

3Iem.  the  Last — Never  too  late  to  learn.  Go 
round  with  the  rector  next  time. 


THE      BELLS. 

[By   Edgak  Allan  Poe,] 


EAR    the     sledges 
with  the  bells — 
Silver  bells  ! 
What    a  world   of 
merriment  their 
melody       fore- 
tells I 
How   they   tinkle, 
tinkle,  tinkle, 
In  the  icy  air  of 
night  ? 
While  the  stars  that 

oversprinkle 
All    the    heavens, 
seena  to  twinkle 
With  a  crystalline  delight ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
■  To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  wells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells. 

Hear  the  mellow  wedding  bells — 
Golden  bells  ! 
What  a  world  of  happiness  their  harmony  foretells  ! 
Through  the  balmy  air  of  night 
How  they  ring  out  their  delight 
From  the  molten-golden  notes  ! 
And  all  in  tune. 
What  a  liquid  ditty  floats 
To  the  turtle-dove  that  listens,  while  she  gloats 
On  the  moon  ! 
Oh,  from  out  the  sounding  cells. 
What  a  gush  of  euphony  voluminously  wells  ! 
How  it  swells  ! 
How  it  dwells 
On  the  Future  !  how  it  tells 
Of  the  rapture  that  impels 
To  the  swinging  and  the  ringing 

Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  rhyming  and  the  chiming  of  the  bells. 
u 


Hear  the  loud  alarum  bells — 
Brazen  bells  ! 
What  a  tale  of  terror,  now,  their  turbulency  tells  ! 
In  the  startled  ear  of  night 
How  they  scream  out  their  affright ! 
Too  much  horrified  to  speak, 
They  can  only  shriek,  shriek. 
Out  of  tune. 
In  a  clamorous  appealing  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire 
In  a  mad  expostulation  with  the  deaf  and  frantic 
fire. 
Leaping  higher,  higher,  higher, 
With  a  desperate  desire, 
And  a  resolute  endeavour. 
Now — now  to  sit  or  never. 
By  the  side  of  the  pale-faced  moon. 
Oh,  the  bells,  bells,  bells  ! 
What  a  tale  their  terror  tells 
Of  despair ! 
How  they  clang,  and  clash,  and  roar ! 
What  a  horror  they  outpour 
On  the  bosom  of  the  palpitating  air  ! 
Yet  the  ear,  it  fully  knows, 
By  the  twanging. 
And  the  clanging. 
How  the  danger  ebbs  and  flows  ;    . 
Yet  the  ear  distinctly  tells, 
In  the  jangling 
And  the  wrangling, 
How  the  danger  sinks  and  swells. 
By  the  sinking  or  the  swelling  in  the  anger  of  the 
bells— 
Of  the  beUs— 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells. 
Bells,  bells,  beDs — 
In  the  clamour  and  the  clangour  of  th^  beUs  ! 

Hear  the  tolling  of  the  bells — 
Iron  bells  ! 
What  a  world  of  solemn  thought  their  monody 
compels  ! 
In  the  silence  of  the  night 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 
At  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone  ! 


162 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


For  every  sound  that  floats 

From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan  : 
And  the  people—  ah,  the  people — 
They  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple, 

All  alone, 
And  who,  tolling,  tolling,  tolling, 

In  that  muffled  monotone, 
Feel  a  glory  in  so  rolling 

On  the  human  heart  a  stone — 
They  are  neither  man  nor  woman — 
They  are  neither  brute  nor  human- 

They  are  Ghouls  ! 
And  their  king  it  is  who  tolls  ; 
And  he  rolls,  rolls,  rolls,  rolls, 

A  pjBan  from  the  bells  ! 
And  his  merry  liosom  swells 

With  the  paean  of  the  bells  ! 


And  he  dances  and  he  yells  ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time, 
In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme. 
To  the  pajan  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells  ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

To  the  throbbing  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bell>^. 

To  the  sobbing  of  tlie  bells  ; 
Keeping  time,  time,  time. 

As  he  knells,  knells,  knells. 
In  a  happy  Punic  rhyme. 

To  the  rolling  of  the  bells — 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells— 
To  the  tolling  of  the  bells, 
Of  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 
Bells,  bells,  bells — 
To  the  moaning  and  the  groaning  of  the  bells. 


MY   EXAMINATION. 

[Prom  "Peter  Simple."    By  Captain  Marry  at.] 


HE  day  after  Captain  Kearney's  decease, 
his  acting  successor  made  his  appearance 
on  board.  The  character  of  Captain 
Horton  was  well  known  to  us  from  the 
complaints  made  by  the  officers  belonging 
to  his  ship,  of  his  apathy  and  indolence ; 
indeed,  he  went  by  the  sobriq^iet  of  "the 
Sloth."  It  certainly  was  very  annoying  to 
Ms  officers  to  witness  so  many  opportunities  of 
prize-money  and  distinction  thrown  away  through 
the  indolence  of  his  disposition.  Captain  Horton 
was  a  young  man  of  family,  who  had  advanced 
rapidly  in  the  service  from  interest,  and  from 
occasionally  distinguishing  himself.  In  the  several 
cutting  -  out  expeditions,  on  which  he  had  not 
volunteered  but  had  been  ordered,  he  had  shown, 
not  only  courage,  but  a  remarkable  degree  of  cool- 
ness in  danger  and  difiiculty,  which  had  gained  him 
much  approbation  :  but  it  was  said,  that  this  cool- 
ness arose  from  this  very  fault — an  unaccountable 
laziness.  He  would  walk  away,  as  it  were,  from 
the  enemy's  fire,  when  others  would  hasten,  merely 
because  he  was  so  apathetic  that  he  would  not  exert 
himself  to  run.  In  one  cutting-out  expedition  in 
which  he  distinguished  himself,  it  is  said,  that 
having  to  board  a  very  high  vessel,  and  that  in  a 
shower  of   grape  and  musketry,  when  the  boat 


dashed  alongside,  and  the  men  were  springing  up,, 
he  looked  up  at  the  height  of  the  vessel's  sides,  and 
exclaimed,  with  a  look  of  despair,  "  Must  we- 
really  climb  up  that  vessel's  sides]"  When  he- 
had  gained  the  deck,  and  became  excited,  he  then, 
proved  how  little  fear  had  to  do  with  the  remark,, 
the  captain  of  the  ship  falling  by  his  hand,  as  he 
fought  in  advance  of  his  own  men.  But  this, 
peculiarity,  which  in  a  junior  officer  was  of  little 
consequence,  and  a  subject  of  mirth,  in  a  captain, 
became  of  a  very  serious  nature.  The  admiral  wa.'v 
aware  how  often  he  had  neglected  to  annoy  or  cap- 
ture the  enemy  when  he  might  have  done  it ;  and 
by  such  neglect  Captain  Horton  infringed  one  of 
articles  of  war,  the  punishment  awarded  to  which; 
infringement  is  death.  His  appointment,  therefore,, 
to  the  Sanglier  was  as  annoying  to  us,  as  hi,s 
quitting  his  former  ship  was  agreeable  to  those 
on  board  of  her. 

As  it  happened,  it  proved  of  little  consequence  ;; 
the  admiral  had  instructions  from  home  to  advance 
Captain  Horton  to  the  first  vacancy,  which  of 
course  he  was  obliged  to  comply  with  ;  but  not 
wishing  to  keep  on  the  station  an  officer  who 
would  not  exert  himself,  he  resolved  to  send  her 
to  England  with  despatches,  and  retain  the  other 
frigate  which  had  been  ordered  home,  and  whichi 


ILY   EXAMINATION. 


163 


nve  had  been  sent  up  to  replace.  We  therefore  heard 
it  announced  with  feelings  of  joy,  mingled  with 
;  regret,  that  we  were  immediately  to  proceed  to 
England.  For  my  part  I  was  glad  of  it.  I  had  now 
;served  my  time  as  midshipman,  to  within  five 
months,  and  I  thought  that  I  had  a  better  chance 
of  being  made  in  England  than  abroad.  I  was  also 
very  anxious  to  go  home,  for  family  reasons,  which 
I  have  already  explained.  In  a  fortnight  we  sailed 
with  several  vessels,  and  directions  to  take  charge 
of  a  large  convoy  from  Quebec,  which  was  to  meet 
us  off  the  island  of  St.  John's.  In  a  few  days  we 
joined  our  convoy,  and  with  a  fair  wind  bore  up 
for  England.  The  weather  soon  became  very  bad, 
and  we  were  scudding  before  a  heavy  gale,  under 
bare  poles.  Our  captain  seldom  quitted  the 
■cabin,  but  remained  there  on  a  sofa,  stretched  at 
his  length,  reading  a  novel,  or  dozing,  as  he  found 
most  agreeable. 

I  recollect  a  circumstance  which  occurred,  which 
will  prove  the  apathy  of  his  disposition,  and  how 
unfit  he  was  to  command  so  fine  a  frigate.  We 
had  been  scudding  three  days,  when  the  weather 
became  much  worse.  O'Brien,  who  had  the  middle 
watch,  went  down  to  report  that  "it  blew  very  hard." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  captain ;  "  let  me  know  if 
it  blows  harder." 

In  about  an  hour  more  the  gale  increased,  and 
O'Brien  went  down  again.  "  It  blows  much  harder. 
Captain  Horton." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Captain  Horton,  turning 
in  his  cot ;  "  you  may  call  me  again  when  it  blows 
/uirder." 

At  about  six  bells  the  gale  was  at  its  height,  and 
the  wind  roared  in  its  fury.  Down  went  O'Brien 
again.  "  It  blows  tremendous  hard  now.  Captain 
Horton." 

"  Well,  well,  if  the  weather  becomes  worse " 

"  It  can't  be  worse,"  interrupted  O'Brien  ;  "  it's 
impossible  to  blow  harder." 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  then,"  replied  the  captain,  "  let 
me  know  when  it  hills." 

In  the  morning  watch  a  similar  circumstance 
took  place.  Mr.  Phillott  went  down,  and  said  that 
several  of  the  convoy  were  out  of  sight  astern. 
"  Shall  we  heave-to,  Captain  Horton  f 

"  O,  no,"  replied  he.  "  She  will  be  so  uneasy. 
Let  me  know  if  you  lose  sight  of  any  more." 

In  another  hour,  the  first  lieutenant  reported 
that  "there  were  very  few  to  be  seen." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Phillott,"  replied  the  captain, 
turning  round  to  sleep  ;  "  let  me  know  if  you  lose 
any  more." 

Some  time  elapsed,  and  the  first  lieutenant 
reported,  "that  they  were  all  out  of  sight." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  call  me 
when  you  see  them  again." 

This  was  not  very  likely  to  take  place,  as  we  were 
going  twelve  knots  an  hour,  and  running  away 


from  them  as  fast  as  we  could ;  so  the  captain 
remained  undisturbed  until  he  thought  proper 
to  get  up  to  breakfast.  Indeed,  we  never  saw 
any  more  of  our  convoy,  but,  taking  the  gale 
with  us,  in  fifteen  days  anchored  in  Plymouth 
Sound.  The  orders  came  down  for  the  frigate  to 
be  paid  off,  all  standing,  and  re-commissioned.  T 
received  letters  from  my  father,  in  which  he  con- 
gratulated me  at  my  name  being  mentioned  in 
Captain  Kearney's  despatches,  and  requested  me 
to  come  home  as  soon  as  I  could.  The  admiral 
allowed  my  name  to  be  put  down  on  the  books  of 
the  guard-ship,  that  I  might  not  lose  my  time,  and 
then  gave  me  two  months'  leave  of  absence.  I 
bade  farewell  to  my  ship -mates,  shook  hands  with 
O'Brien,  who  proposed  to  go  over  to  Ireland  pre- 
vious to  his  applying  for  another  ship,  and,  with 
my  pay  in  my  pocket,  set  off  in  the  Plymouth 
mail,  and  in  three  days  was  once  more  in  the  arms 
of  my  affectionate  mother,  and  warmly  greeted  by 
my  father,  and  the  remainder  of  my  family. 

I  remained  at  home  until  my  time  was  complete, 
and  then  set  off  for  Plymouth  to  undergo  my  ex- 
amination. The  passing-day  had  been  fixed  by  the 
admiral  for  the  Friday,  and,  as  I  arrived  on 
Wednesday,  I  amused  myself  during  the  day, 
walking  about  the  dockyard,  and  trying  aU  I 
could  to  obtain  further  information  m  my  pro- 
fession. On  the  Thursday,  a  party  of  soldiers 
from  the  depot  were  embarking  at  the  landing- 
place  in  men-of-war  boats,  and,  as  I  understood, 
were  about  to  proceed  to  India.  I  witnessed  the 
embarkation,  and  waited  till  they  shoved  off,  and 
then  walked  to  the  anchor  wharf  to  ascertain  the 
weights  of  the  respective  anchors  of  the  different 
classes  of  vessels  in  the  King's  service. 

1  had  not  been  there  long,  when  I  was  attracted 
by  the  squabbling,  created  by  a  soldier,  who,  it  ap- 
peared, had  quitted  the  ranks  to  run  up  to  the  tap 
in  the  dockyard  to  obtain  liquor.  He  was  very  drunk, 
and  was  followed  by  a  young  woman  with  a  child 
in  her  arms,  who  was  endeavouring  to  pacify  him. 

"  Now  be  quiet,  Patrick,  jewel,"  said  she,  cling- 
ing to  him  ;  "  sure  it's  enough  that  you've  left  the 
ranks,  and  will  come  to  disgrace  when  you  get  on 
board.  Now  be  quiet,  Patrick,  and  let  us  ask  for 
a  boat,  and  then  perhaps  the  officer  will  think  it 
was  all  a  mistake,  and  let  you  off  aisy  ;  and  sure, 
I'll  spake  to  Mr.  O'Rourke,  and  he's  a  kind  man." 

"  Out  wid  you,  you  cratur,  it  is  Mr.  O'Rourke 
you'd  be  having  a  conversation  wid,  and  he  be 
chucking  you  under  that  chin  of  yours.  Out  wid 
you,  Maiy,  and  lave  me  to  find  my  way  on  board. 
Is  it  a  boat  I  want,  when  I  can  swim  like  St. 
Patrick,  wid  my  head  under  my  arm,  if  it  wasn't 
on  my  shoulders  1  At  all  events,  I  can  wid  my 
nappersack  and  musket  to  boot." 

The  young  woman  cried,  and  tried  to  restrain 
him,  but  he  broke  from  her,  and,  running  down  to 


164 


GLEANINGS  FROM   FOPULAR   AUTHORS. 


the  wharf,  dashed  off  into  the  water.  The  young 
woman  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  wharf,  perceived  him 
sinking,  and,  shrieking  with  desi)air,  threw  up  her 
arms  in  her  agony.  The  child  fell,  struck  on  the 
edge  of  the  piles,  turned  over,  and  before  I  could 
catch  hold  of  it,  sank  into  the  sea.  "  The  child  ! 
the  child  !"  burst  forth  in  another  wild  scream,  and 
the  ix)or  creature  lay  at  my  feet  in  violent  fits.  I 
looked  over,  the  child  had  disappeared  ;  but  the 
soldier  was  still  struggling  with  his  head  above 
water.  He  sank  and  rose  again — a  boat  was 
pulling  towards  him,  but  he  was  quite  exhausted. 
He  threw  back  his  arms  as  if  in  despair,  and  was 
about  disappearing  under  the  wave,  when,  no 
longer  able  to  restrain  myself,  I  leaped  off  the 
high  wharf,  and  swam  to  his  assistance,  just  in 
time  to  lay  hold  of  him  as  he  was  sinking  for  the 
last  time.  I  had  not  been  in  the  water  a  quarter 
of  a  minute  before  the  boat  came  up  to  us,  and 
dragged  us  on  board.  The  soldier  was  exhausted 
and  speechless.  I,  of  course,  was  only  very  wet. 
The  boat  rowed  to  the  landing-place  at  my  request, 
and  we  were  both  put  on  shore.  The  knapsack 
which  was  fixed  on  the  soldier's  back,  and  his 
regimentals,  indicated  that  he  belonged  to  the 
regiment  just  embarked  :  and  I  stated  my  opinion, 
that  as  soon  as  he  was  a  little  recovered,  he  had 
better  be  taken  on  board.  As  the  boat  which 
picked  us  up  was  one  of  the  men-of-war  boats,  the 
officer  who  had  been  embarking  the  troops,  and 
had  been  sent  on  shore  again  to  know  if  there  were 
any  yet  left  behind,  consented.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  soldier  recovered,  and  was  able  to  sit  up  and 
speak,  and  I  only  waited  to  ascertain  the  state  of 
the  poor  young  woman  whom  I  had  left  on  the 
wharf.  In  a  few  minuses  she  was  led  to  us  by  the 
warder,  and  the  scene  between  her  and  her  husband 
was  most  affecting.  When  she  had  become  a  little 
composed,  she  turned  round  to  me,  where  I  stood 
dripping  wet,  and,  intermingled  with  lamentation 
for  the  child,  showering  down  emphatic  blessings 
on  my  head,  inquired  my  name.  "  Give  it  to  me  ! " 
she  cried  ;  "  give  it  to  me  on  paper,  in  writing,  that 
I  may  wear  it  next  my  heart,  read  and  kiss  it  every 
day  of  my  life,  and  never  forget  to  pray  for  you, 
and  to  bless  you !  " 

"  I  '11  tell  it  you.     My  name " 

"Nay,  write  it  down  for  me — write  it  down. 
Sure,  you  '11  not  refuse  me.  All  the  saints  bless 
you,  dear  young  man,  for  saving  a  poor  woman 
from  despair  ! "  - — 

The  oflacer  commanding  the  boat  handed  me  a 
pencil  and  a  card  ;  I  wrote  my  name,  and  gave  it 
to  the  poor  woman  ;  she  took  my  hand  as  I  gave 
it,  kissed  the  card  repeatedly,  and  put  it  into  her 
bosom.  The  officer,  impatient  to  shove  off,  ordered 
her  husband  into  the  boat^she  followed,  clinging 
to  him,  wet  as  he  was — the  boat  shoved  orf,  and  I 
hastened  up  to  the  inn,  to  dry  my  clothes.    I  could 


not  help  observing,  at  the  time,  how  the  fear  of  a 
greater  evil  will  absorb  all  consideration  for  a 
minor.  Satisfied  that  her  husband  had  not 
perished,  she  had  hardly  once  appeared  to  re- 
member that  she  had  lost  her  child. 

I  had  only  brought  one  suit  of  clothes  with  me  : 
they  were  in  very  good  condition  when  I  arrived, 
but  salt  water  plays  the  deuce  with  a  uniform.  I 
lay  in  bed  until  they  were  dry ;  but  when  I  put 
them  on  again,  not  being  before  too  large  for  me^ 
for  I  grew  very  fast,  they  were  now  shrunk  and 
shrivelled  up,  so  as  to  be  much  too  small.  My 
wrists  appeared  below  the  sleeves  of  my  coat — my 
trousers  had  shrunk  half  way  up  to  my  knees — the 
buttons  were  all  tarnished,  and,  altogether,  I 
certainly  did  not  wear  the  appearance  of  a 
gentlemanly,  smart  midshipman.  I  would  have 
ordered  another  suit,  but  the  examination  was  to 
take  place  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and 
there  was  no  time.  I  was  therefore  obliged  to 
appear  as  I  was  on  the  quarter-deck  of  a  line-of- 
battle  ship,  on  board  of  which  the  passing  was  to 
take  place.  Many  others  were  there  to  undergo' 
the  same  ordeal,  all  strangers  to  me,  and,  as  I  per- 
ceived by  their  nods  and  winks  to  each  other,  as 
they  walked  up  and  down  in  their  smart  clothes, 
not  at  all  inclined  to  make  my  acquaintance. 

There  were  many  before  me  on  the  list,  and  our 
hearts  beat  every  time  that  a  name  was  called,  and 
the  owner  of  it  walked  aft  into  the  cabin.  Some 
returned  with  jocund  faces,  and  our  hopes  mounted 
A^th  the  anticipation  of  similar  good  fortune  ; 
others  came  out  melancholy  and  crestfallen,  and 
then  the  expression  of  their  countenances  was 
communicated  to  our  own,  and  we  quailed  with 
fear  and  apprehension.  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
asserting,  that  although  "  passing  "  may  be  a  proof 
of  being  qualified,  "  not  passing  "  is  certainly  no- 
proof  to  the  contrary.  I  have  known  many  of  the 
cleverest  young  men  turned  back  (while  others  of 
inferior  abilities  have  succeeded),  merely  from  the- 
feeling  of  awe  occasioned  by  the  peculiarity  of  the 
situation ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  when 
it  is  considered  that  all  the  labour  and  exertion  of 
six  years  are  at  stake  at  this  appalling  moment. 
At  last  my  name  was  called,  and,  almost  breathless 
from  anxiety,  I  entered  the  cabin,  where  I  found 
myself  in  presence  of  the  three  captains  who  were 
to  decide  whether  I  was  fit  to  hold  a  commission 
in  his  Majesty's  service.  My  logs  and  certificates 
were  examined  and  approved ;  my  time  calculated,, 
and  allowed  to  be  correct.  The  questions  in 
navigation  which  were  put  to  me  were  very  few,  for 
the  best  of  all  possible  reasons,  that  most  captains- 
in  his  Majesty's  service  know  little  or  nothing  of 
navigation.  During  their  servitude  as  midshipmen, 
they  learn  it  by  rote^  without  being  aware  of  the 
principles  upon  which  the  calculations  they  use  are 
founded.    As  lieutenants,  their  services  as  to  navi- 


MY    EXAMINATION. 


165 


gation  are  seldom  required,  and  they  rapidly  forget 
all  about  it.  As  captains,  their  whole  remnant  of 
mathematical  knowledge  consists  in  being  able  to 
set  down  the  ship's  position  on  the  chart.  As  for 
navigating  the  ship,  the  master  is  answerable  ;  and 
the  captains  not  being  responsible  themselves,  they 
trust  entirely  to  his  reckoning.  Of  course  there 
are  exceptions,  but  what  I  state  is  the  fact ;  and  if 
an  order  from  the  Admiralty  was  given,  that  all 
captains  should  pass  again,  although  they  might 
acquit  themselves  very  well  in  seamanship,  nine- 
teen out  of  twenty  would  be  turned  back  when 


it  was  the  Earl  of  Sandwich  of  whom  it  is  stated,, 
that,  his  ship  being  in  a  sinking  state,  he  took  a 
boat  to  hoist  his  flag  on  board  of  another  vessel  in 
the  fleet,  but  a  shot  cutting  the  boat  in  two,  and 
the  weight  of  his  armottr  bearing  him  down,  the 
Earl  of  Sandwich  perished.     But  to  proceed. 

As  soon  as  I  had  answered  several  questions- 
satisfactorily,  I  was  desired  to  stand  up.  The 
captain  who  had  interrogated  me  on  navigation,, 
was  very  grave  in  his  demeanour  towards  me,  but 
at  the  same  time  not  uncivil  During  his  exami- 
nation, he  was  not  interfered  with  by  the  other 


My  Examination.    (Drawn  by  W.  Ralsion. 


they  were  questioned  in  navigation.  It  is  from 
the  knowledge  of  this  fact  that  I  think  the  service 
is  injured  by  the  present  system,  and  the  captain 
should  be  held  wholly  responsible  for  the  naviga- 
tion of  his  ship.  It  has  been  long  known  that  the 
officers  of  every  other  maritime  state  are  more 
scientific  than  our  own,  which  is  easily  explained, 
from  the  responsibility  not  being  invested  in  our 
captains.  The  origin  of  masters  in  our  service  is 
singular.  When  England  first  became  a  maritime 
power,  ships  for  the  King's  service  were  found  by 
the  Cinque  Ports  and  other  parties— the  fighting 
part  of  the  crew  was  composed  of  soldiers  sent  on 
board.  All  the  vessels  at  that  time  had  a  crew 
of  sailors,  with  a  master  to  navigate  the  vessel. 
During  our  bloody  naval  engagements  with  the 
Dutch,  the  same  system  was  acted  upon.    I  think 


two,  who  only  undertook  the  examination  in  "  sea- 
manship.". The  captain  who  now  desired  me  to 
stand  up,  spoke  in  a  very  harsh  tone,  and  quite 
frightened  me.  I  stood  up,  pale  and  trembling, 
for  I  augured  no  good  from  this  commencement. 
Several  questions  in  seamanship  were  put  to  me, 
which  I  have  no  doubt  I-  answered  in  a  very 
lame  way,  for  I  cannot  even  now  recollect  what  I 
said. 

"  I  thought  so,"  observed  the  captain  ;  *'  I  judged 
as  much  from  your  appearance.  An  officer  who  is 
so  careless  of  his  dress,  as  not  even  to  put  on  a 
decent  coat  when  he  appears  at  his  examination, 
generally  turns  out  an  idle  fellow,  and  no  seaman. 
One  would  think  you  had  served  all  your  time  in 
a  cutter,  or  a  ten-gun  brig,  instead  of  dashing 
frigates.  Come,  sir,  I'll  give  you  one  more  chance.'* 


166 


GLEANINGS   FKOxM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


I  was  so  liiirt  at  what  the  captain  said,  that  I 
could  not  control  my  feelings.  I  replied,  with  a 
quivering  lip,  "that  I  had  had  no  time  to  order 
another  uniform  " — and  I  burst  into  tears. 

"  Indeed,  Burrows,  you  are  rather  too  harsh," 
said  the  third  captain  ;  "  the  lad  is  frightened. 
Let  him  sit  down  and  compose  himself  for  a  little 
while.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Simple,  and  we  will  try  you 
again  directly." 

I  sat  down,  checking  my  grief  and  trying  to 
recall  my  scattered  senses.  The  captains,  in  the 
meantime,  turning  over  the  logs  to  pass  away  the 
time  ;  the  one  who  had  questioned  me  in  naviga- 
tion reading  the  Plymouth  newspaper,  which  had 
a  few  minutes  before  been  brought  on  board  and 
sent  into  the  cabin.  "  Hey !  what's  this  ]  I  say, 
Burrows — Keats,  look  here,"  and  he  pointed  to  a 
paragraph.  "Mr.  Simple,  may  I  ask  whether  it 
was  you  who  saved  the  soldier  who  leaped  otf  the 
wharf  yesterday  l " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  I ;  "  and  that's  the  reason  why 
my  uniforms  are  so  shabby.  I  spoilt  them  then, 
and  had  no  time  to  order  others.  I  did  not  like  to 
say  why  they  were  spoilt."  I  saw  a  change  in  the 
countenances  of  all  the  three,  and  it  gave  me 
courage.  Indeed,  now  that  my  feelings  had  found 
vent,  I  was  no  longer  under  any  apprehension. 


"Come,  Mr.  Simple,  stand  up  again,"  said  the 
captain,  kindly ;  "  that  is,  if  you  feel  sufficiently 
composed  ;  if  not,  we  will  wait  a  little  longer. 
Don't  be  afraid,  we  tvish  to  pass  you." 

I  was  not  afraid,  and  stood  up  immediately.  I 
answered  every  question  satisfactorily ;  and  finding 
that  I  did  so,  they  put  more  difficult  ones.  "  Very 
good,  very  good,  indeed,  Mr.  Simple  ;  now  let  me 
ask  you  one  more  ;  it's  seldom  done  in  the  service, 
and  perhaps  you  may  not  be  able  to  answer  it.  Do 
you  know  how  to  club-haul  a  ship  1 " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  I ;  and  I  inunediately  stated 
how  it  was  to  be  done. 

"  That  is  sufficient,  Mr.  Simple  ;  I  wish  to  ask 
you  no  more  questions.  I  thought  at  first  you 
were  a  careless  officer  and  no  seaman  :  I  now  find 
you  are  a  good  seaman  and  a  gallant  young  man. 
Do  you  wish  to  ask  any  more  ({uestions  1 "  con- 
tinued he,  turning  to  the  two  others. 

They  replied  in  the  negative  ;  my  passing  certi- 
ficate was  signed,  and  the  captains  did  me  the 
honour  to  shake  hands  with  me,  and  wish  me 
speedy  promotion.  Thus  ended  happily  the  severe 
trial  to  my  poor  nerves  ;  and,  as  I  came  out  of  the 
cabin,  no  one  could  have  imagined  thut  I  had  been 
in  such  distress  within,  when  they  beheld  the  joy 
that  irradiated  my  countenance. 


A    COLD     EECEPTION. 

[From  "  Little  Kate  Kirby."    By  F.  W.  Robinson.] 


OOKING  at  Westmair's  from  Wat- 
ling  Street  was  to  set  down  the 
great  house  as  not  worth  its  salt. 
Strangers  making  a  short  cut  to  the 
^lansion  House,  or  whose  offices 
were  in  broader  thoroughfares,  might 
have  passed  Westmair's  all  their  lives 
'^  without  knowing  it ;  it  was  a  strip  of  a 
house  even  where  houses  ran  in  strips  as  a  rule. 
This  was  only  Westmair's  London  office — a  place 
which  was  handy  for  the  London  folk,  but  not 
imperative  for  Westmair's  to  possess — a  crotchet  of 
the  firm,  that  had  always  had  faith  in  City  offices 
for  anything.  Westmair's  proper  was  ten  miles 
from  London,  and  the  Westmair's  oils  and  the 
Westmair's  polish,  which  had  made  the  fortune  of 
the  family,  were  kept  and  mixed  in  large  quan- 
tities miles  away  from  the  shadow  of  St.  Paul's. 
This  was  only  a  house  of  samples,  and  orders  and 
general  correspondence. 

I  turned  the  handle  of  the  half-glass  door — had 
the  glass  been  cleaned  since  I  was  there  last  1 — 
and  passed  into  the  stuffy  shop.  All  was  very 
misty,  scarcely  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  fog 


which  had  come  in  with  me  from  the  street.  Per- 
haps there  were  tears  in  my  eyes  at  the  prospect 
of  meeting  my  father  after  four  long  years — at 
the  thought  of  beginning  life  again  with  him 
from  that  very  moment,  as  it  were.  I  went 
cautiously  towards  the  counting-house  at  the  end 
of  the  shop  ;  it  went  up  three  or  four  steps,  and 
was  shut  from  public  gaze,  when  there  was  any 
representative  of  the  public  to  gaze  at  it,  by  a 
second  glass  front,  behind  which  was  a  wire-blind, 
behind  which  was  a  lamp  burning  brightly,  behind 
which  was  some  one,  with  his  back  towards  me, 
writing  at  a  desk.  My  father  in  his  new  post  of 
principal  cashier,  indubitably  ! 

When  I  was  in  London  last,  he  had  sat  at  a  little 
desk  below  this  window,  with  a  gas  jet  above  his 
premature  greyness,  and  had  blown  verbal  com- 
munications through  a  gutta-percha  pipe  into  the 
office  above  him  ;  but  times  had  changed,  and  now 
there  was  a  little  bald  man  with  a  bent  back  to 
blow  at  my  father  instead. 

I  had  not  seen  this  last-named  personage,  and 
was  proceeding  boldly  to  the  inner  sanctum,  when 
he  piped  out,  "  What's  your  business,  young  lady  V 


A   COLD   RECEPTION. 


167 


and  focussed  me  with  two  horn-rimmed  spectacles. 
This  old  gentleman  was  the  new  clerk — the  office 
and  book-keeper.  I  knew  all  about  him  at  once. 
My  father's  rise  had  left  a  vacancy  in  the  post, 
which  my  grandfather  had  been  the  first  of  our 
family  to  fill ;  there  had  been  no  more  Kirbys  to 
the  good,  hence  an  advertisement,  and  this  worn- 
out,  broken-down  man  at  eighty  pounds  a  year  ! 
Westmair's  never  gave  more  than  eighty  pounds 
a  year  for  their  office-keeper — they  called  this 
little,  dusky,  ill-smelling  shop  an  office  —  and 
possibly  the  situation  was  not  worth  more,  for 
there  had  been  hundreds  always  ready  to  jump  at 
it.  There  had  never  seemed  a  great  deal  to  do  for 
the  money — I  had  often  caught  my  father  dozing 
over  the  books,  although  it  was  his  fixed  idea  that 
Westmair's  worked  him  Uke  a  horse,  and  I  believe 
this  old  man  had  been  asleep  before  I  had  intruded 
on  the  premises. 

He  was  alive  to  business  very  quickly — juniors 
in  office  are  frequently  the  most  energetic  of  the 
staff 

"What's  your  business,  young  lady  1 " 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  don't  speak  so  loudly,"  I  said, 
gesticulating  towards  the  counting-house*;  "  I  want 
to  surprise  him." 

The  office-keeper  looked  from  me  to  the  window 
over  his  head,  and  then  back  from  the  window  to 
me,  and  glared.  It  was  a  full  minute  and  a  half 
before  the  idea  seized  him,  and  then  he  grinned 
from  ear  to  ear,  and  turned  me  a  little  qualmish 
with  three  yellow  tusks  and  a  furry  tongue,  of 
which  he  made  the  most. 

"  Oh,  you  know  Mr. " 

"  Of  course  I  know  him.  I  have  come  thousands 
of  miles  to  see  him  ;  all  the  way  from  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope  ! " 

The  book-keeper,  or  office-keeper,  looked  some- 
what amazed  at  this  avowal,  for  he  shut  his 
mouth  and  glared  at  me  again  through  his  ugly 
spectacles. 

"You  can  go  up,  then,"  he  said,  dipping  his 
pen  into  the  ink  and  flourishing  it  towards  the 
counting-house,  "  if  he  expects  you.  Does  he  ex- 
pect you  1 " 

"  To  be  sure  he  does." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  of  him,"  he  mut- 
tered ;  "  in  business  hours,  too — well ! " 

I  did  not  stay  to  explain  more  fully  my  conduct 
to  one  who  had  evidently  set  me  down  for  a  very 
forward  young  woman.  I  was  in  a  hurry  to  em- 
brace my  dear  dad,  and  to  hear  him  murmur  forth, 
"  My  darling  Faith— I  am  so  glad  you  have  come 
back  ! "  He  would  be  glad  of  that,  I  was  very 
sure.  Man  of  many  faults  as  he  was,  peevish, 
discontented,  and  eccentric,  I  had  always  thought 
that  he  haS  loved  his  girls  in  his  way.  My  woollen 
dress  did  not  betray  me  by  any  rustling,  as  I  as- 
cended the  steps,  on  the  top  of  which  my  heart 


began  beating  nervously — I  hardly  knew  for  what 
reason.  The  dialogue  beneath  the  counting-house 
window  had  not  disturbed  the  studies  of  the  cashier, 
who  was  very  much  bent  over  his  desk,  as  I 
pushed  open  the  door  and  stole  in.  It  was  a  small 
counting-house,  with  an  iron  safe  on  one  side  of 
the  room,  that  looked  respectable  and  solid.  How 
quickly  Westmair's  made  money  in  their  quiet  way 
was  evident  by  that  big  safe,  and  by  the  cheques 
which  had  come  by  the  last  post,  and  which  the 
cashier  was  examining  and  endorsing  before  lock- 
ing up  for  the  night,  now  that  banking  hours  were 
over.  I  laid  my  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  said — 

"  I  have  come  back,  dear,  as  you  asked  me — 
back  for  good !  Don't  be  very  much  afraid,  or 
very  much  scared,  but  take  time  to  think  that  I 
am  here,  your  little  Faith  ! " 

All  this  was  said  in  a  low  whisper,  for  I  knew 
that  my  father  was  nervous,  and  I  wished  to  sur- 
prise him,  not  to  frighten  him.  But  before  it  was 
all  said,  or  almost  before — for  I  have  a  faint  recol- 
lection of  going  on  with  a  few  more  words,  even 
after  my  discovery — I  had  become  aware  that  my 
hands  were  not  resting  on  my  father's  shoulders, 
which  were  round  shoulders,  and  weak,  and  would 
have  given  way  more,  and  that  in  lieu  of  the  scanty 
grey-flecked  hairs  of  Mr.  Kirby,  there  was  rising 
up  before  me  a  curlier,  darker,  and  more  vigorous 
head  of  hair. 

"  Oh,  my  ! "  I  gasped  forth,  and  then  a  sunburnt 
face  turned  round  as  my  hands  dropped  to  my 
side,  and  my  tongue  stuck  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth.  He  was  a  young  man  of  some  four  or  five 
and  twenty  years  of  age  before  whom  I  was 
standing — a  principal,  probably,  a  Westmair  or 
a  somebody  of  importance  who  had  taken  my 
father's  post  for  a  day  or  two.  He  was  inclined 
to  laugh  at  me  and  my  embarrassment.  I  saw  the 
curves  of  his  mouth  trying  hard  to  keep  them- 
selves down,  and  a  pair  of  big  brown  eyes  seemed 
laughing  already.  I  was  ashamed  of  myself,  until 
I  grew  hot  and  indignant  and  "  fussy,"  and  thought 
that  he  might  have  shown  more  consideration  for 
one  who  had  made  so  egregious  a  blunder.  He 
rose  from  his  chair  at  last. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  seeing  how 
grave  I  had  become,  "  but  I  think  this  is  the  wrong 
office.  You  —  you'll  find  it  higher  up  the  street 
perhaps." 

He  was  a  trifle  confused  himself,  now,  and  gave 
an  odd  and  impulsive  scratch  to  his  head,  forcible 
but  inelegant. 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  wrong  office  ;  I  have  been  ■ 
very  foolish  ;  pray  forgive  my  rudeness,  sir,  but 
I  only  expected  to  find  one  person  here — not  you,, 
certainly,"  I  stammered  forth. 

"  You  have  got  in  the  wrong  place,  I  think,"  was 
his  reply,  "  unless— oh,  dear  ! — whose  place  do  you. 
want,  may  I  inquire  ?  " 


168 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  Mr.  Westmair's." 

"Oh!" 

He  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  again — 
taking  two  hands  this  time,  and  becoming 
thereby  mucli  fiercer  in  aspect— and  then  turned 
suddenly  so  pale  that  I  thought  he  must  be  a 
very  delicate  young  man. 


He  sat  down  in  the  chair  which  he  had  half 
pushed  towards  me  a  few  minutes  since,  and  which 
I  had  not  occupied,  and  dashed  at  his  cheques  and 
papers  with  extraordinary  interest,  turning  his 
back  upon  me  and  ignoring  my  presence  altogether. 
It  was  very  strange  and  startling,  and  I  was  begin- 
ning to  think  that  all  might  not  be  well— that  all 


I  LAID  MT  HANDS  UPON  HIS  SHOCLDERS."     (Drawn  by  F.  Barnard. 


"You  are  Mr.  Westmair,  I  presume?  "  I  said. 

"  My  name  is  Westmair  certainly — not  one  of 
the  Westmairs,  but  an  offshoot — a  family  con- 
nection— a  hanger-on — a — I  hope  you  follow  me — 
I  hope  you  are — that  is,  that  you  are  not — may 
I  take  the  liberty  of  inquiring  what  is  your 
name  1 "  he  asked  with  sudden  energy  and  de- 
cision. 

"  My  name  is  Kirby." 

"Oh— I  see!" 


might  be  very  ill  for  me— as  some  of  the  papers 
fluttered  to  the  floor  without  the  gentleman  taking 
heed  of  them.  He  had  been  surprised — he  was  now 
confused. 

"  My  name  is  Kirby,"  I  explained  more  fully, 

"  and  I  have  called  at  my  father's  request.     It 

was  his  wish  that  I  should  come  direct  to  the 

office." 

"  Oh — indeed — confound  it !— was  it  though  ? " 

"  Something  has  happened  ! — he  has  left  here  ] " 


A   COLD   EECEPTION. 


169 


"  Yes — he  has  left,"  said  Mr.  Westmair,  slowly  ; 
"  I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute — you  don't  know  any- 
thing, then  ] " 

"  Not  anything — save  that  he  was  fortunate  in 
life  when  he  wrote  last  to  me." 
•     "  When  was  that  ]  " 

"  Some  months  ago,  he  wrote  to  me  at  Pieter- 
maritzburg.  Oh,  sir,  he  has  not  met  with  an 
accident — he  is  not  dead  1  You  would  not  keep 
me  in  this  suspense  if  he  were  dead,  I  am  sure ! " 

"  No,  no — he  is  not  dead,  I  am  sorry  to  say — I 
mean  I  am  glad  to  say.  Pray  sit  down — pray 
compose  yourself — I  will  tell  you  everything  in  a 
minute." 

He  had  forgotten  that  he  was  occupying  the  only 
chair  in  the  room,  and  that  I  was  leaning  for 
support  against  a  wainscot  partition,  yearning  for 
the  news,  the  bad  news,  which  I  knew  now  was  on 
its  way  towards  me.  What  could  have  happened 
since  my  father's  stroke  of  good  luck  to  have  so 
wholly  changed  the  scene  1  Was  he  really  mad 
when  he  wrote  last,  and  was  his  fortune  only  a 
dream  1 

"  I— I  hope  that  I  have  been  patient,  sir — but  I 
— I  am  very  anxious,"  I  hinted  at  last. 

He  looked  round  quickly,  then  rose,  snatched  up 
his  hat,  and  walked  sharply  from  the  counting- 
house,  down  the  steps  into  the  office,  and  into  the 
street. 

,  Was  he  going  to  fetch  my  father,  or  what?  I 
peered  through  the  window  above  the  wire-blind 
as  he  went  striding  along  the  shop.  The  street- 
door  was  opened  before  he  had  reached  it,  and  a 
tall,  swarthy  man  entered  and  regarded  the  cashier 
with  amazement. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  That  is,  only  Kirby's  daughter  from 
the  Cape  ;  she  is  in  the  counting-house." 

"  Well — you  have  told  her,  I  suppose  1 " 

"  No,  I  haven't — I  couldn't ;  upon  my  soul,  I 
couldn't — I  must  leave  it  to  you." 

"  Why,  this  is  cowardice." 

"  Very  likely  ;  I  am  naturally  a  coward.  Tell 
her  as  gently  as  you  can  ;  she  seems  a  very  nice 
girl,  poor  thing." 

"  But " 

"  But  I'm  hanged  if  I  do  all  the  dirty  work  in 
this  place ;  it  does  not  suit  me ;  and  I  can't  tell 
that  girl,  who  came  in  just  now,  all  life  and  hope, 
the  truth  about  her  father.  Tell  her  yourself, 
Abe." 

The  swarthy  man  seemed  more  astonished  by 
the  excitable  behaviour  of  his  cashier  than  by  the 
news  of  my  presence  in  his  office.  He  went  to  the 
door  and  looked  out  in  the  fog  after  his  refractory 
subordinate,  then  with  slow,  precise  steps,  he  came 
towards  me  and  my  sinking  heart.  I  wished  that 
the  other  man  had  stopped  to  tell  me  all  the  truth, 
though  he  had  taken  longer  time  about  it.     I  did 

V 


not  like  this  hard-lined  face,  which  seemed  ad- 
vancing towards  me  like  a  fate,  beyond  my  power 
to  resist. 

The  gentleman  who  entered  the  counting-house, 
and  took  the  place  of  his  eccentric  cashier,  was  a 
man  of  thirty  years  of  age,  who  might  have  told 
the  world  he  was  forty-five,  without  surprising  it 
in  the  least.  He  was  a  tall  stiff-backed  man,  with 
one  of  the  saddest  countenances  I  had  ever  seen, 
stern  it  was  as  well  as  sad,  in  many  respects,  but 
it  was  not  so  wholly  inflexible  as  I  had  fancied 
from  my  first  look  at  it.  He  was  very  dark,  with 
black  eyes  that  seemed  cold  and  unsympathetic, 
and  unlike  black  eyes  in  general,  and  his  close- 
shaven  cheeks  and  chin  did  not  give  him  one 
day's  younger  aspect.  If  he  had  shorn  himseH  of 
all  hirsute  decoration  for  that  purpose,  it  had 
been  a  mistake  in  art,  and  had  only  given  him  a 
grim  Don  Quixote  looking  head  that  was  not 
pleasant  to  confront.  He  entered  slowly,  and 
after  regarding  me  attentively  for  an  instant, 
bowed,  and  pushed  the  chair  over  more  towards 
me. 

"You  are  Miss  Kirby,"  he  said.  "Sit  down, 
please  ;  you  had  better  sit  down,  I  think." 

I  sat  down  thus  adjured.  I  was  in -no  hurry  for 
the  news  now.  I  knew  that  it  would  be  bad 
enough,  and  there  came  over  me  the  wish, 
strangely  at  variance  with  my  late  impatience,  to 
delay  the  revelation  which  this  man,  in  his  cold 
hard  tones,  would  give  out  to  me,  as  the  hammer 
of  a  bell  might  strike  out  its  time  of  day. 

"  My  name  is  Westmair — Abel  Westmair,  of  the 
firm  of  Westmair  and  Son.  I  am  the  son,"  he 
added,  as  if  by  some  mischance  I  should  take  him 
for  his  father. 

I  bowed,  but  I  could  not  speak  to  him.  I  was 
not  awed  by  the  greatness  of  his  position,  but  by 
the  consciousness  of  the  terrible  nature  of  his  forth- 
coming revelation. 

"  You  are  Miss  Faith  Kirby,  I  presume,  to  whom 
I  wrote  a  few  weeks  since,  suggesting  that  you 
should  remain  in  Pietermaritzburg,  and  not  come 
to  London,  as  your  father  had  previously  desired," 
he  continued.  "It  was  his  vnsh.  too,  I  believe, 
that  you  should  stay  ;  but  I  was  following  out  my 
own  ideas,  certainly  not  his." 

"  Is  he  dead,  then  1  Oh,  he  is  dead ! "  I  cried 
very  quickly  now. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  he  is  not  dead.     He how 

careless ! "  and  Mr.  Westmair,  Junior,  stooped 
under  the  table,  picked  up  several  cheques  and 
papers,  and  looked  over  them  as  he  continued, 
"He  is  not  dead,  but  in  trouble." 

His  black  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me  over  the  edge 
of  the  papers,  and  he  was  watching  the  effect  with 
great  attention.  Was  he  breaking  the  news  to  me- 
kindly  or  not  1  It  was  impossible  to  guess  from 
his  stolid  countenance. 


170 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  In  trouble,"  I  repeated  mechanically. 

Mr.  Westmair  restored  the  cheques  to  their  place 
from  which  his  cashier  had  swept  them  in  his 
hurry  to  depart,  leaned  against  the  table,  crossed 
his  legs,  clasped  his  thin  hands  together,  and  once 
more  looked  at  me  with  fixed  intentness. 

"  In  trouble  by  his  own  acts — and  by  his  own 
weakness,  and  consequently  there  is  no  one  to 
blame  but  himself  for  all  the  misery  that  he  has 
brought  about," 

"Poor  father  !  is  he  very  ill — in  very  great 
trouble  1 " 

"  I  don't  see  that  he  deserves  any  pity  from  you 
— any  more,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
*'  than  he  deserves  it  from  me  " 

"  Go  on,  sir." 

Mr.  AYestmair,  having  as  he  thought  sufficiently 
prepared  me,  or  having  grown  tired  of  his  circum- 
locutory process  of  information,  or  having  attended 
so  far  as  he  considered  necessary  to  the  injunctions 
of  the  young  man  who  had  beaten  an  uncere- 
monious retreat,  delivered  the  rest  of  his  com- 
munication at  one  shot. 

"  Your  father  is  in  prison." 

There  was  a  sudden  singing  in  my  ears,  an  up- 
heaving of  the  floor  towards  the  ceiling,  a  merry- 
go-round  of  the  iron  safe,  the  counting-house 
window,  and  Abel  Westmair,  and  then  the  mist 
was  very  dense  and  thick  about  me,  as  if  a  grand 
rush  of  all  the  fog  in  Watling  Street  had  streamed 
into  the  office,  to  hide  me  with  my  grief  and  shame 
from  him  who  had  told  me  all  the  news. 

****** 

I  was  quite  certain  that  I  had  fainted  and  made 
a  scene,  some  minutes  afterwards.  I  hated  scenes 
and  to  have  given  way  like  this,  and  before  this 
man,  was  humiliating  to  reflect  upon,  when  the 
strength  for  reflection  returned  to  me.  I  had 
always  fancied  that  I  was  inclined  to  be  firm,  but 
this  weakness  convinced  me  that  I  was  only  a  silly 
girl,  after  all,  unable  to  bear  up  against  trouble. 
Should  I  ever  bear  up  against  real  trouble  again — 
such  real,  downright  trouble  as  this  was  ? 

"  I  shall  be  better  in  a  minute,"  I  said,  though 
my  Hps  trembled  very  much,  and  I  am  sure  were 
as  white  as  paper  ,  "it's — it's  the  long  journey.  I 
have  been  some  time  on  board  ship,  and — and  the 
journey  was  a  fatiguing  one." 

"  It's  a  considerable  distance  from  the  Cape  to 
London,"  Mr.  Westmair  observed. 

He  had  been  bending  over  me  along  with  his 
book-keeper,  whom  he  had  evidently  called  to  my 
assistance.  The  cheques  were  all  over  the  floor 
again,  and  at  some  stage  or  other  of  my  con- 
valescence I  had  knocked  a  water-bottle  and  glass 
from  his  hand,  the  contents  of  which  were  all  over 
the  cheques. 

"  Do  you  feel  better  now  1 "  he  inquired,  after  I 
had  dreamily  regarded  him  for  a  minute  or  two. 


"  I  don't  know ;  I — I  think  I  do.  I  suppose  I 
fainted  away  ] " 

"Yes." 

"  Because — you  told  me  that  my  father— hadn't 
this  gentleman  better  go  now  1  I  am  nmch  obliged 
to  him,  but " 

"  You  can  go,  Simpson,"  said  Mr.  Westmair. 
"  Not  that  it  matters,"  he  added,  after  Simpson 
had  retired,  "  for  he  knows  the  whole  story,  which 
he  could  have  told  you  much  better  than  I.  I  am 
not  used  to  this  kind  of  thing." 

He  said  it  in  an  aggrieved  tone  of  voice,  as  if  he 
had  been  imposed  upon  very  much  that  afternoon. 
He  stooped,  picked  up  his  cheques,  regarded  their 
damp  condition  ruefully,  and  finally  directed  his 
attention  to  myself  again. 

"  Will  you  not  put  your  bonnet  on  ? "  he  said,, 
and  I  was  conscious  that  that  article  of  attire  had 
been  removed,  and  that  my  hair  had  become  rough 
and  tumbled.  I  made  myself  as  tidy  as  possible, 
and  as  my  agitation  would  allow,  keeping  my  eyes 
upon  him,  feeling  that  I  should  flinch  no  more,  and 
be  uncomfortable  never  again  beneath  his  micro- 
scopic stare. 

"  ^ly  father  in  prison ! "  I  said  ;  "  in  prison  for 
what?" 

"For  robbing  us." 

"  My  father  turn  robber— oh,  I  don't  be.ieve 
that!  My  father  was  honour  itself,  with  all  his 
faults,  and  do  you  tell  me — do  you  dare  to  tell  me 
that  he  is  a  thief  1 " 

"  I  would  certainly  refrain  from  exciting  myself 
in  this  way,"^  said  Abel  Westmair,  coldly  ;  "  it  un- 
nerves you. ' 

"  Tell  me  all  you  know — or,  rather,  all  that  you 
believe  against  him." 

I  dare  say  that  I  was  unpleasantly  peremptory 
in  my  tone,  but  I  was  so  beset  with  the  conviction 
that  my  father  had  been  the  victim  of  a  cruel  plot, 
that  I  did  not  study  the  feelings,  if  he  had  any,  of 
my  companion. 

Mr.  Westmair  complied  with  my  request.  I  was 
seated  in  the  chair  again,  and  he  was  leaning 
against  the  table  in  his  old  position.  He  spoke 
clearly  and  precisely,  but  betrayed  no  emotion  at 
the  story,  or  any  further  concern  for  my  feelings. 
He  was  one  of  the  great  Westmairs,  and  I  was  one 
of  the  Kirbys — for  two  generations  the  Kirbys  had 
been  the  servants  of  these  people. 

"Your  father  was  a  clever  book-keeper  and  an 
ingenious  man  at  figures.  When  we  made  him 
cashier,  and  when  a  great  deal  of  money  passed 
through  his  hands,  he  turned  his  talents  to  a  bad 
account,  and  robbed  us  systematically.  We  dis- 
covered it,  and  prosecuted  him,  as  we  should 
prosecute  on  principle  any  one  guilty  of  a  breach 
of  trust  in  this  establishment.  He  pleaded  guilty 
and " 

"  He  pleaded  guilty  ! "  I  cried. 


KING  JOHN   AND   THE   ABBOT. 


171 


"  Yes — the  facts  were  too  clear  for  any  attempt 
at  refutation — and  he  was  sentenced  to  two  years' 
imprisonment." 

"  Where  is  he  now  1 " 

"  In  Holloway  Prison." 

"  God  help  him  ! — he  was  not  guilty ;  I  am  sure 
lie  was  not  guilty,  Mr.  Westmair." 

Mr,  Westmair's  face  shadowed  more  at  my  per- 
sistence. 

"  That  is  a  reflection  on  my  word — on  the  honour 
of  the  house,  Miss  Kirby,"  he  said  slowly ;  "  but 
you  are  suffering  from  natural  excitement.  What 
do  you  think  of  doing  1  You  have  some  money,  I 
suppose,  and  friends  in  London,  and — and  so  on  ] 
>  Shall  Simpson  fetch  a  cab  1 " 

"  No,  sir — I  can  walk,"  said  I,  rising  at  this  hint, 
^'  do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me  in  any  way.  Of 
what  sum  were  you  robbed  1 " 

"  Eight  hundred  pounds." 

"  And  when  was  my  father  tried  for  the  rob- 
bery f 

"  The  fifteenth  of  September." 

"  I— I  must  get  a  newspaper,  or  something,  and 
■understand  it  for  myself,  I  can't  understand  you," 
I  added  abruptly,  "  and  I  do  not  want." 

"  Just  as  Miss  Kirby  pleases,"  he  said,  more 
coldly  still. 

"You  never  took  his  part,  or  thought  that  .he 
might  have  been  innocent ;  you  believed  every 
fact  against  an  old  servant  at  once.  And  yet  his 
father  before  him  had  been  in  this  firm." 

"  There  was  a  Kirby  here  before  your  father," 
said  Abel  Westmair,  "but  we  were  not  called  upon 
to  regard  the  matter  from  a  sentimental  or  a 
dramatic  point  of  view.  We  were  robbed,  and  we 
found  out  the  thief,  that  is  all.  If  he  had  been 
■our  dearest  and  nearest  friend,  it  would  have  still 
been  our  duty  to  repay  a  base  act  of  ingratitude 
with  the  law's  justice  and  might.  There  was  no 
malice  in  the  matter,  and  so  far  as  regards  yourself, 
young  lady,  I,  speaking  for  the  firm,  will  add  that 
-we  are  sorry." 

He  said  it  with  some  dignity,  perhaps  with  as 
much  kindhess  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  evince, 
"but  I  saw  in  him  only  a  hard  master  who  had  had 
no  mercy  on  my  father.  I  hated  the  man ;  I 
could  have  cursed  him  in  my  desolation,  and  for 
.-all  the  forced  calmness  which  I  had  at  last  assumed 


I  hated  him  ;  but  I  was  too  proud  to  show  that  ho 
or  his  words  had  any  power  to  move  me,  and  as 
my  reiteration  of  a  belief  in  my  father's  innocence 
appeared  to  vex  him  slightly,  I  expressed  again 
my  firm  conviction  that  my  father  had  been 
wronged. 

He  did  not  defend  himself,  or  offer  any  further 
explanation  ;  he  regarded  me  with  his  old  aggra- 
vating stolidity,  and  as  I  moved  towards  the  door 
he  opened  it  for  me,  standing  thereat  like  a  statue. 

I  was  going  out  in  the  world,  not  knowing 
which  way  to  turn,  wholly  uncertain  concerning 
my  next  step,  more  bewildered  by  the  strangeness 
of  my  position  than  I  could  have  been  aware 
at  the  moment,  when  I  remembered  that  an 
all-important  question  had  not  been  asked  yet. 

"  And  Where's  little  Kate  ] " 

The  question  leaped  from  me  with  spasmodic 
force,  and  he  elevated  his  eyebrows  and  stared  at 
me  harder  than  ever. 

''  Where's  who  1 "  he  said. 

"  Little  Kate,  my  sister?" 

"  I  didn't  know  that  you  had  a  sister.  Really 
I  have  been  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  your  family 
connections." 

"  And  my  father  never  spoke  of  her  to  you  1" 

"  Not  a  word — why  should  he  1 " 

"  Great  Heaven !  that  child  is  alone  in  the  world 
then.  And  she  is  only  seventeen.  Where  can  she  heV 

I  went  out  of  the  counting-house,  pondering  on 
this  mystery,  on  the  impossibility  of  my  finding  her 
in  the  dark  City  of  London,  wherein  I  was  myself 
submerged. 

I  went  out  of  Westmair  and  Son's  with  a  heart 
that  I  thought  was  broken.  My  own  position 
was  precarious,  but  I  had  not  time  to  think  of  it. 
Where  was  the  child  I  had  loved  so  much,  and  to 
whom  I  had  been  more  like  a  mother  than  a  sister 
after  the  real  mother  had  died  ?  She  had  been  a 
wild,  excitable,  pretty  girl,  wayward,  vain,  fragile ; 
she  had  been  my  chief  anxiety  in  going  away; 
what  was  she  now  in  my  coming  back  again  ? 
There  were  troubles  and  cares  on  all  sides  of  me, 
as  I  crept  out  of  the  ofiice  of  the  Westmairs  into 
the  fog,  which  had  become  very  thick  and  black 
with  the  night.  All  seemed  as  impenetrable  as 
my  own  life  ahead,  and  there  was  no  seeing  a  step 
before  me. 


KING  JOHN  AND   THE  ABBOT. 

[From  the  "  Percy  Reliques."] 


AN  ancient  story  He  tell  you  anon 
Of  a  notable  prince,  that  was  called  King  John ; 
And  he  ruled  England  with  maine  and  with  might. 
For  he  did  great  wrong,  and  maintein'd  little  right. 


And  He  tell  you  a  story,  a  story  so  merrye, 
Concerning  the  Abbot  of  Canterburye  ; 
How  for  his  house-keeping,  and  high  renowne, 
They  rode  poste  for  him  to  fair  London  towna 


172 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


An  hundred  men,  the  king  did  heare  say, 
The  abbot  kept  in  his  house  every  day ; 
And  fifty  golde  chaynes  without  any  doubt. 
In  velvet  coates  waited  the  abbot  about. 


"I  FEARB  THO0  WOKK'BT  TBEASON   AGAJS8T  MT  CROWNE." 

"  How  now,  father  abbot,  I  heare  it  of  thee, 
Thou  keepest  a  farre  better  house  than  mee. 
And  for  thy  house-keeping  and  high  renowne, 
I  feare  thou  work'st  treason  against  my  crowne." 

"My  liege,"  quo'  the  abbot,  "I  would  it  were 

knowne, 
I  never  spend  nothing  but  what  is  my  owne  ; 
And  I  trust  your  grace  will  doe  me  no  deere 
For  spending  of  my  owne  true-gotten  geere." 

"  Yes,  yes,  father  abbot,  thy  fault  it  is  highe, 
And  now  for  the  same  thou  needest  must  dye  ; 
For  except  thou  canst  answer  me  questions  throe, 
Thy  head  shall  be  smitten  from  thy  bodie." 

"And  first,"  quo'  the  king,  "when  I'm  in  this  stead, 
With  my  crowne  of  golde  so  faire  on  my  head. 
Among  all  my  liege  men,  so  noble  of  birthe. 
Thou   must  tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am 
worthe. 

"  Secondlye,  tell  me,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soone  I  may  ride  the  whole  world  about. 
And  at  the  third  question  thou  must  not  shrink, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  think." 

"O,  these  are  hard  questions  for  my  shallow  witt, 
Nor  I  cannot  answer  your  grace  as  yet ; 
But  if  you  will  give  me  but  three  weekes  space, 
He  do  my  endeavour  to  answer  your  grace." 


"  Now  three  weeks  space  to  thee  will  I  give. 
And  that  is  the  longest  time  thou  hast  to  live ; 
For  if  thou  dost  not  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  lands  and  thy  livings  are  forfeit  to  mee." 

Away  rode  the  abbot,  all  sad  at  that  word. 
And  he  rode  to  Cambridge  and  Oxenford ; 
But  never  a  doctor  there  was  so  wise. 
That  could  with  his  learning  an  answer  devise 

Then  home  rode  the  abbot,  of  comfort  so  cold. 
And  he  mett  his  shepheard  agoing  to  fold  ; 
"  How  now,  my  lord  abbot,  you  are  welcome  home,. 
What   newes  do  you  bring  us  from  good  King 
Johnl" 

"  Sad  newes,  sad  newes,  shepheard,  I  must  give  : 
That  I  have  but  three  days  more  to  live  : 
For  if  I  do  not  answer  him  questions  three, 
My  head  will  be  smitten  from  my  bodie. 

"  The  first  is  to  tell  him  there  in  that  stead. 
With  his  crowne  of  golde  so  fair  on  his  head, 
Among  all  his  liege-men  so  noble  of  birth, 
To  within  one  penny  of  what  he  is  worth. 

"  The  seconde,  to  tell  him,  without  any  doubt, 
How  soone  he  may  ride  this  whole  world  about  ; 
And  at  the  third  question  I  must  not  shrinke. 
But  tell  him  there  truly  what  he  does  thinke." 


"I  HATE   BUT  THREE   DATS   UORE  TO  LITE." 

"Now  cheare  up,  sire  abbot,  did  you  never  hear 

yet, 

That  a  fool  he  may  learne  a  wise  man  witt  1 
Lend  me  horse,  and  serving-men,  and  your  apparel. 
And  I  'U  ride  to  London  to  answere  your  quarreL 


KING  JOHN   AND   THE   ABBOT. 


173 


"  Nay ;  frowne  not,  if  it  hath  bin  told  unto  mee, 
I  am  like  your  lordship,  as  ever  may  bee  : 
And  if  you  will  but  lend  me  your  gowne, 
There  is  none  shall  knowe  us  in  fair  London 
towne." 

"  Now  horses  and  serving-men  thou  shalt  have, 
With  sumptuous  array  most  gallant  and  brave  ; 
With  crozier,  and  mitre,  and  rochet,  and  cope, 
Fit  to  appeare  'fore  our  father  the  pope." 


— Now  secondly  tell  me,  without  any  doubt. 
How  soone  I  may  ride  this  whole  world  about." 

"  You  must  rise  with  the  sun,  and  ride  with  the  same, 
Until  the  next  morning  he  riseth  againe ; 
And  then  your  grace  need  not  make  any  doubt 
But  in  twenty-four  hours  you'll  ride  it  about." 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Jone, 
"  I  did  not  think  it  could  be  gone  so  soone ! 


"  I'm  his  poor  shepheabd,  as  flats  you  may  see."    (Drawn  by  W.  Ralston.) 


"  Now  welcome,  sire  abbot,"  the  king  he  did  say, 
"  'Tis  well  thou  'rt  come  back  to  keepe  thy  day ; 
For  and  if  thou  canst  answer  my  questions  three, 
Thy  life  and  thy  living  both  saved  shall  bee. 

"And  first,  when   thou    seest   me  here  in  this 

stead, 
With  my  crown  of  golde  so  fair  on  my  head, 
Among  all  my  liege-men  so  noble  of  birth, 
Tell  me  to  one  penny  what  I  am  worth." 

"For  thirty  pence  our  Saviour  was  sold 
Among  the  false  Jewes,  as  I  have  bin  told  : 
And  twenty-nine  is  the  worth  of  thee, 
For  I  thinke,  thou  art  one  penny  worser  than 
hee." 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  St.  Bittel, 
**  I  did  not  think  I  had  been  worth  so  littel ! 


— Now  from  the  third  question  thou  must  not 

shrinke, 
But  tell  me  here  truly  what  I  do  thinke." 

"Yea,  that  shall  I  do,  and  make  your  grace  merry; 
You  thinke  I'm  the  Abbot  of  Canterbury ; 
But  I'm  his  poor  shepheard,  as  plain  you  may  see, 
That  am  come  to  beg  pardon  for  him  and  for  mee." 

The  king  he  laughed,  and  swore  by  the  masse, 
"  He  make  thee  lord  abbot  this  day  in  his  place ! " 
"  Now  naye,  my  liege,  be  not  in  such  speede. 
For  alacke  I  can  neither  write,  ne  reade." 

"  Four  nobles  a  week,  then,  I  will  give  thee. 
For  this  merry  jest  thou  hast  showne  unto  mee  : 
And  tell  the  old  abbot,  when  thou  comest  home. 
Thou  hast  brought  him  a  pardon  from  good  King 
John." 


174 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


SLEIGHING     IN     THE      SNOW. 

[From  "A  Eide  to  Khiva."    By  Colonel  Fred  Bdenabt.] 


T  WAS  called 
JL  at  daybreak 
the  following 
morning.  The 
few  prepara- 
tions required 
to  be  made  were 
soon  finished, 
and  I  found  my- 
self in  my  new- 
ly -  purchased 
sleigh,  which 
had  been  tho- 
roughly re- 
paired, driving 
along  in  the 
direction  of 
Smweshlaev- 
skaya,  the  first 
station  arrived 
at  when  travel- 
ling towards 
Orenburg,  and 
about  twenty 
versts  from 
Samara.  The 
-country  was  a  dejid  flat,  and  of  a  most  uninteresting 
description.  A  few  trees  scattered  here  and  there 
/nade  by  their  scarcity  the  bleak  and  naked  ap- 
pearance of  the  adjacent  surroundings  the  more 
•conspicuous.  Naught  save  snow  here,  there,  and 
everywhere.  No  signs  of  life  save  a  few  melan- 
choly crows  and  jackdaws,  which  from  time  to 
time  made  a  short  flight  to  stretch  their  pinions, 
and  then  returned  to  perch  by  the  side  of  some 
kitchen  chimney,  and  extract  from  the  rapidly 
rising  smoke  as  much  warmth  as  possible.  The 
route  much  resembled  the  road  between  Sizeran 
and  Samara ;  for,  indeed,  in  winter-time  every- 
thing in  Russia  is  either  alike  or  hidden  from  view, 
buried  beneath  its  blanch  white  pall  of  snow. 

The  station-houses  along  the  line  of  road  I  was 
then  travelling  were  fairly  clean.  The  furniture 
generally  consisted  of  a  horsehair  sofa  and  some 
wooden  chairs,  whilst  a  few  coloured  prints  of  the 
Emperor  and  other  members  of  the  Royal  Family 
of  Russia  were  hung  about  the  walls,  and  made  up 
the  attempt  at  decoration.  A  book  in  which  to 
inscribe  complaints  was  also  kept,  and  any  traveller 
who  felt  himself  aggrieved  could  write  down  his 
grievance,  which  would  be  subsequently  investi- 
gated by  an  inspector,  whose  duty  it  was  to  per- 
form this  task  once  a  month.  I  sometimes  used 
to  while  away  the  time  whilst  waiting  for  fresh 


horses  by  turning  over  the  pages  of  the  grumblers' 
book — occasionally,  indeed,  having  to  add  my  own 
grievance  to  the  list— the  badness  of  the  horses 
being  a  frequent  source  of  annoyance  to  the 
passengers. 

I  reached  Bodrovsky,  the  next  station,  a  little 
after  sunset,  only  halting  suflicient  time  to  drink  a 
few  glasses  of  tea,  in  order  the  better  to  resist  the 
rapidly-increasing  cold,  the  thermometer  having 
fallen  to  25'^  below  zero  (Reaumur),  and  started 
again  for  Malomalisky,  about  26^  versts  distant. 
I  hoped  to  reach  tliis  point  about  9  p.m.,  and  there 
refresh  the  inner  man  before  proceeding  on  my 
journey.  It  is  hungry  work,  sleigh-driving  in  the 
winter,  and  the  frame  requires  a  good  deal  of  sup- 
port in  the  shape  of  food  in  order  to  keep  up  the 
vitality.  However,  it  is  no  good  forming  any  plans 
in  which  time  is  concerned  in  Russia.  The  natives 
have  a  Mohammedan-like  indifference  to  the  clock, 
and  travellers  must  succumb,  however  unwillingly, 
to  the  waywardness  of  the  elements. 

Presently  I  became  aware  by  some  pistol-like 
cracks— the  sounds  of  the  whip  reverberating  from 
the  backs  of  my  horses — that  there  was  a  diff"erence 
of  opinion  between  them  and  the  driver.  A  blind- 
ing snow  had  come  on  ;  the  darkness  was  so  great 
that  I  could  not  distinguish  the  driver.  Our  jaded 
animals  were  floundering  about  in  all  directions, 
vainly  endeavouring  to  hit  off'  the  original  track, 
from  which  it  was  evident  that  they  had  strayed. 
The  man  now  got  down  from  his  box,  and,  leaving 
me  in  charge  of  the  horses,  made  a  wide  cast  round 
on  foot,  hoping  to  discover  the  road. 

The  snow  all  this  time  was  falling  in  a  manner 
unknown  to  people  in  this  country.  It  was  piling 
itself  up  against  the  sleigh  in  such  volumes  that  I 
foresaw,  if  we  did  not  speedily  reach  the  station, 
we  should  inevitably  be  buried  alive.  After  about 
half  an  hour's  search  the  driver  returned,  and 
said  to  me,  "  Oh,  Lord ! — you  are  a  misfortune. 
Let  us  turn  back."  I  replied,  "  If  you  have  lost 
the  way,  how  can  you  turn  back  ]  Besides,  if  you 
know  the  road,  we  are  now  half-way,  so  it  is  just  as 
easy  to  go  forward  as  to  return." 

He  had  found  the  track,  but  by  this  time  the 
sleigh  was  so  buried  in  the  snow  that  the  horses 
could  not  stir  it.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  do, 
which  was  for  me  to  get  out  and  help  him  to  lift 
the  vehicle,  when  we  eventually  succeeded  in  re- 
gaining the  path. 

The  fellow  was  a  good  deal  surprised  at  this 
action  on  my  part,  for  Russian  gentlemen  as  a  rule 
would  almost  prefer  to  be  frozen  to  death  than  do 
any  manual  labour.    Presently  he  said,  "  One  of 


SLEIGHING   IN   THE   SNOW. 


175 


noble  birth,  what  shall  we  do  now  1 "  "  Go  on." 
But  at  last,  finding  that  it  was  no  use,  and  that 
the  snow  in  front  of  us  had  drifted  over  the  track 
to  a  much  greater  extent  than  over  that  part  of  the 
road  which  we  had  left  behind,  I  was  reluctantly 
obliged  to  give  the  order  to  return.  This  he  obeyed 
with  the  greatest  alacrity,  the  horses  as  weU  as 
the  driver,  showing  by  their  redoubled  exertions, 
that  they  were  well  aware  of  the  change  of  direction. 

There  is  nothing  so  disheartening  to  a  traveller 
who  wishes  to  get  forward  rapidly  as  the  frequent 
snow-storms  whjch  occur  in  winter  in  this  part  of 
liussia.  Days  upon  days  of  valuable  time  are  thus 
lust,  whilst  any  attempt  to  force  a  way  through  at 
all  hazards,  will  only  lead  to  the  extreme  pro- 
bability of  your  being  frozen  to  death,  without 
enabling  you  in  any  way  to  accelerate  your 
arrival.  The  inspector  at  the  station  laughed 
heartily  when  we  returned,  and  said  that  it  was 
very  fortunate  I  had  not  to  pass  the  night  out 
in  the  open.  He  had  previously  advised  us  not 
to  attempt  the  journey  that  evening,  but  wait  for 
daylight.  However,  I  did  not  believe  him,  and 
consequently  had  to  buy  my  experience. 

Of  all  the  countries  in  which  it  has  been  my  fate 
to  travel,  the  land  where  curiosity  is  most  rampant 
is  decidedly  Russia.  Whether  this  comes  from  a 
dearth  of  public  news  and  subjects  for  conversa- 
tion, or  from  something  innate  and  specially 
characterising  the  Sclavonic  race,  it  is  diflicult 
to  say.  The  curiosity  of  the  fair  sex,  which  in 
other  countries  is  supposed  to  be  the  ne  2)h(s  ultra 
of  inquisitiveness,  is  in  the  land  of  the  Tzar  far 
outstripped  by  the  same  peculiarity  in  the  male 
inhabitants.  Of  course  I  am  alluding  more  par- 
ticularly to  the  lower  orders  and  not  to  the  upper 
classes,  though  even  with  the  latter  it  is  a  feature 
that  cannot  help  striking  the  foreigner. 

The  inspector  was  a  thorough  old  conservative, 
and  greatly  mourned  the  new  order  of  things,  and 
that  he  could  no  longer  demand  the  traveller's 
jwdoi'ojnaya,  or  pass.  "  Why,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not 
know  whom  I  am  addressing  ;  I  may  be  talking  to 
a  shopkeeper,  and  call  him  Your  Excellency,  or 
address  a  Grand  Duke  as  simply  one  of  noble 
birth."  "  Yes,"  chimed  in  some  travellers  who 
were  benighted  like  myself,  "and  rogues  can 
travel  now,  for  they  are  not  obliged  to  go  to  the 
police."  I  was  rather  amused  at  this.  There  was 
decidedly  a  wish  on  the  part  of  the  other  way- 
farers to  know  who  I  was  ;  so,  puUing  my  English 
passport  out  of  my  pocket,  I  said  to  the  inspector, 
"  There,  you  can  look  at  my  podorojnaya."  He 
turned  it  upside  down  ;  and  then  said,  "  Ah,  yes ! 
you  are  a  Greek,  but  what  a  beautiful  crown  that 
is  on  it  !  You  must  be  some  great  personage,  going 
to  Tashkent."  "  Perhaps  so,"  I  replied,  assuming 
an  air  of  importance.  "  There  is  a  royal  highness 
coming  through  soon,"  said  the  inspector  ;  "  I  heard 


it  from  a  pedlar  who  went  by  yesterday  ;  and  one 
of  his  officers  is  travelling  on  in  front  to  make  pre- 
parations. Perhaps  his  Excellency,"  turning  to 
me,  "  is  that  gentleman."  "  No,"  was  my  answer  ; 
when  one  of  the  company,  who  appeared  a  little 
annoyed  at  my  evident  unwillingness  to  undergo 
this  process  of  pumping,  remarked  that  there  had 
been  several  robberies  in  the  neighbourhood. 
"  Yes,  there  have,"  said  another,  and  the  assem- 
blage all  looked  at  me  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You 
are  the  man  ;  now,  do  not  deny  it ;  we  shall  not 
believe  you." 

So  the  evening  wore  on,  till  one  by  one  we  laid 
ourselves  down  to  rest,  when  a  sound,  very  sugges- 
tive of  a  pigsty,  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  night.  On 
looking  out  at  daybreak,  I  found  that  the  wind  had 
subsided,  and  the  thermometer  had  risen  to  within 
a  few  degrees  of  freezing-point.  There  was  no 
time  to  be  lost,  particularly  as  I  could  not  tell  how 
long  this  exceptional  order  of  things  would  last ;. 
so,  ordering  fresh  horses,  I  recommenced  the 
journey.  A  great  deal  of  snow  had  fallen 
during  the  night,  and  it  was  fortunate  that  we 
had  returned  to  the  station,  as  in  some  places, 
only  a  little  distance  beyond  the  spot  from  which 
my  driver  had  retraced  his  steps,  were  drifts  eight 
and  ten  feet  deep.  "  Praise  be  to  God  that  we  did 
not  fall  in !"  said  my  Jehu,  pointing  them  out  to 
me  as  he  drove  by  ;  "I  might  have  been  frozen." 

A  single  line  of  telegraph  ran  along  the  side  of 
the  road,  being  part  of  the  wire  which  connects- 
the  capital  with  Tashkent.  The  high  poles  from 
which  the  line  was  suspended  served  as  a  capital 
landmark  to  point  out  the  route  which  we  must 
follow.  Presently  the  scenery  changed,  and  some 
plantations  here  and  there  relieved  the  eye,  tired 
by  continually  gazing  over  the  endless  waste.  Low 
trucks  on  wooden  runners,  drawn  by  two  or  four 
horses,  and  laden  with  iron  rails  for  the  construc- 
tion of  the  railway,  encountered  us  on  the  path.. 
In  many  places  we  had  great  difficulty  in  passing,. 
owing  to  the  narrowness  of  the  road.  My  Jehu's, 
vocabulary  of  expletives  was  more  than  once 
thoroughly  exhausted  upon  the  heads  of  the 
sleighmen.  They  had,  as  it  appeared,  purposely 
tried  to  upset  our  sleigh  by  charging  it  with  their 
heavily-laden  vehicles. 

A  few  stations  further  on  the  road  I  met  General 
Kryjinovsky,the  Governor  of  the  Orenburg  district,, 
who  was  on  his  way  to  St.  Petersburg,  accompanied 
by  his  wife  and  daughter.  He  had  highly  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  his  early  career  in  Turkistan,. 
and  to  this  he  owes  the  important  post  entrusted 
to  his  charge.  He  is  a  little  spare  man,  with  a  keen 
glance  and  determined  eye,  and  if  I  might  be 
allowed  to  judge  from  our  brief  interview,  he  was 
not  the  sort  of  individual  who  woul^care  to  give 
me  much  information  about  my  journey,  of  which 
he  did  not  seem  to  approve. 


170 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  You  must  remember,"  he  said,  "  on  no  account 
are  you  to  go  to  India  or  to  Persia.  You  must 
retrace  yoiu-  steps  to  European  Russia  along  the 
same  road  by  which  you  go.  You  speak  Russian, 
1  hear  1 "  he  suddenly  remarked,  looking  fixedly  at 


extent  had  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  He  now 
observed,  "  Oh,  I  only  supposed  you  did  so."  In 
the  meantime  his  wife  and  daughter  were  taking 
off  their  furs  in  the  same  apartment.  The  ac- 
commodation for  ladies  is  of  the  most  meagre  kind 
in  these  roadside  stations,  there  are  no  retiring- 
rooms  whatever,  and  the  fair  sex  have  in  this 
respect  to  put  up  with  much  more  discomfort  than 
the  men. 

As  I  drove  away  after  our  interview  I  pondered 

the  general's  words  well  over  in  my  mind — "  You 

must  not  go  to  India  ;  you  must  not  go  to  Persia  ; 

^  and  yon  must  retrace  your  steps  exactly  by  the 


'  Thkt  kicked  and  jumped." 


me.  Our  conversation  up  to  that  time  had  been 
carried  on  in  French. 

"  Yes,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  how  clever  you  are  to 
have  made  this  discover^',  considering  that  we  have 
not  spoken  one  word  in  yoiu"  language,  and  you 
have  never  seen  me  before."  This  took  the  general 
a  little  aback,  and  he  slightly  changed  colour. 

He  had  evidently  received  a  communication  from 
some  authorities  at  St.  Petersburg,  to  the  effect 
that  I  was  acquainted  with  Russian,  generally  an 
imknown  tongue  to  foreigners,  and  to  a  certain 


same  route  you  go."  It  was  really  very  extra- 
ordinary to  see  how  much  interest  this  paternal 
government  in  St.  Petersburg  took  in  my  move- 
ments. Here  I  was  travelling  in  a  country  where 
the  rulers  defend  the  despoliation  of  the  inhabi- 
tants in  Central  Asia,  and  the  annexation  of  their 
territory,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  done  for  the 
purpose  of  Christianity  and  civilisation.  And  yet 
the  government  of  this  civilised  nation  made  as 
much  fuss  about  my  travelling  in  Central  Asia 
as  any  mandarin  at  Pekin,  whose  permission  I 


SLEIGHING   IN   THE   SNOW. 


177 


might  have  had  to  ask  for  a  journey  through  the 
Celestial  Empire. 

It  will  take  the  Russians  a  long  time  to  shake 
oiF  from  themselves  the  habits  and  way  of 
thought  inherited  from  a  barbarous  ancestry. 
Grattez  le  Russe  et  vous  trouverez  le  I'artare,  fa  c'est 
une  insulte  aux  Tartares.  This  is  a  hackneyed 
expression  ;  however,  it  is  a  true  one.  It  requires 
but  a  little  rubbing  to  disclose  the  Tartar  blood 
so  freely  circulated  through  the  Muscovite  veins. 

Some  distance  further  on  the  road  I  observed  a 
strong  disinclination  evinced  by  the  man  whose 
business  it  was  to  drive  me  to  the  next  halting- 
place.  He  was  a  fresh-looking,  sturdy  fellow,  and 
I  could  not  understand  the  evident  dislike  he  had 
for  his  fare,  the  more  particularly  as  I  had  made 
a  point  of  well  tipping  the  respective  drivers  in 
order  to  get  on  as  fast  as  possible.  "  What  is  it  ] " 
I  inquired  of  the  station-master.  "  Is  he  ill  1 " 
"  No,"  was  the  reply  ;  "he  was  married  yesterday, 
that  is  all."  It  seemed  somewhat  cruel  to  tear 
away  the  poor  fellow  from  the  conjugal  bliss  that 
awaited  him  in  the  next  room,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  No  other  driver  could  be  procured, 
and  the  duty  must  be  performed.  If  I  had  not 
before  remarked  that  there  was  something  amiss 
with  the  fellow,  I  should  very  soon  have  found  it 
out  by  the  extraordinary  motions  his  horses  im- 
parted to  the  sleigh. 

He  lashed  the  animals.  They  kicked  and 
jumped,  performing  antics  which  slightly  re- 
sembled the  convulsive  twitchings  of  an  indi- 
vidual sulFering  from  St.  Vitus.  I  was  thrown 
in  the  air  and  caught  again  by  the  rebound ; 
upset,  righted,  and  upset  again,  without  having 
had  time  to  realise  the  first  disaster ;  cartridge- 
cases,  gun,  saddle-bags,  and  self,  all  flying  in  the 
air  at  the  same  instant,  the  enamoured  driver 
forgetting  everything  in  the  absorbing  influence 
of  his  passion,  save  the  desire  to  return  to  the 
side  of  his  adored  Dulcinea. 

I  once  rode  a  camel  in  love  ;  this  was  in  the 
Great  Korosko  desert.  He  was  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Magnoon,  or  the  Mad  Camel ;  but 
whether  on  account  of  his  susceptible  heart  or  not 
I  cannot  say.  I  shall  never  forget  on  one  occasion, 
when  the  amorous  quadruped  had  accidentally 
become  separated  from  the  Juliet  of  his  aff'ec- 
tion,  a  sweet  creature,  that  carried  the  sheik  of 
our  party.  She  was  very  old,  but  this  was  no 
deterrent  in  the  eyes  of  her  ardent  admirer,  who 
was  miserable  when  not  at  her  side.  I  had  ridden 
on  a  little  ahead  of  the  party  when  the  voice  of 


Juliet,  who  was  being  saddled  in  the  desert,  and 
who  vented  her  woes  in  weird  squeals  and 
sounds  appropriate  to  her  race,  was  wafted  by 
the  breeze  to  the  attentive  ears  of  her  admirer. 
He  was  a  very  long  and  a  very  tall  camel,  and  in 
an  instant  he  commenced  to  rear.  My  position 
became  both  ludicrous  and  precarious.  Ludicrous 
to  every  one  but  myself,  who  was  interested  in  the 
matter  more  than  anyone  except  Romeo.  I  found 
that  I  was,  as  it  were,  slipping  down  the  steep  roof 
of  a  house,  with  nothing  to  hold  on  by  but  a  little 
peg  about  four  inches  long,  which  projected  from 
the  front  part  of  the  saddle. 

It  was  an  awful  moment,  but  he  did  not  keep 
me  long  in  suspense.  Performing  an  extraordinary 
movement,  he  suddenly  swung  himself  round  on 
his  hind  legs,  and  ran  as  fast  as  ever  he  could  in 
the  direction  of  the  fair  enticer.  A  camel's  gait  is 
a  peculiar  one  ;  they  go  something  like  a  pig  with 
the  fore,  and  like  a  cow  with  the  hind  legs.  The 
motion  is  decidedly  rough.  At  this  moment  my 
steed  was  seized  with  a  strange  and  convulsive 
twitching  which  threatened  to  capsize  the  saddle. 
My  position  became  each  second  more  ridiculous 
and  appalling.  I  was  a  shuttlecock,  Romeo's  back 
was  the  battledore.  At  every  moment  I  was  hurled 
into  the  air.  The  fear  of  missing  the  saddle  and 
falling  on  the  ground  was  continually  in  my  mind. 
The  little  projecting  knob,  which  seemed  an  instru- 
ment of  torture  like  the  impaling  sticks  used  to 
punish  the  unfaithful  in  China,  was  also  a  source 
of  consternation.  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  felt  a 
more  thorough  sensation  of  relief,  than  when,  on 
arriving  at  our  encampment,  Romeo  halted  by  the 
side  of  his  Juliet. 

The  episode  with  Romeo  had  been  an  alarming 
one.  It  was  nothing  to  being  driven  by  this 
amorous  young  Russian  as  a  charioteer.  At  last, 
after  having  been  deposited  with  all  my  luggage 
for  the  third  time  in  the  snow,  I  resolved  to  appeal 
to  his  feelings  by  a  sharp  application  of  my  boot 
"  Why  do  you  do  that  T  he  said,  pulling  up  short. 
"  You  hurt,  you  break  my  ribs."  "  I  only  do  to 
you  what  you  do  to  me,"  was  my  reply,  "  you  hurt, 
you  break  my  ribs,  and  property  besides." 

"  Oh,  one  of  noble  birth,"  ejaculated  the  fellow, 
"  it  is  not  my  fault.  It  is  thou,  oh,  moody  one  !  " 
— to  his  ofl"side  horse,  accompanied  by  a  crack  from 
his  lasL  "It  is  thou,  oh,  spoilt  and  cherished 
one!"  —  to  his  other  meagre  and  half -starved 
quadruped.  (Whack  !)  "  Oh,  petted  and  caressed 
sous  of  animals  "  (whack,  whack,  whack !),  "  I  will 
teach  you  to  upset  the  gentleman  ! " 


w 


178 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


MY  AUNT. 


[By  Oliver  Wendell  Holme  .] 

^S^^^  Y  aunt  !    my  dear  unmarried  avint ! 
Long  years  have  o'er  her  flown, 
Yet  still  she  strains  the  aching  clasp 
That  binds  her  virgin  zone  ; 
I  know  it  hurts  her — though  she  looks 

As  cheerful  as  she  can  ; 
Her  waist  is  ampler  than  her  life, 
For  life  is  but  a  span. 


My  aunt !  my  poor  deluded  aunt  1 

Her  hair  is  almost  grey  ; 
Why  will  she  train  that  winter  curl 

In  such  a  spring-like  way  1 
How  can  she  lay  her  glasses  down, 

And  say  she  reads  as  well, 
When,  through  a  double  convex  lens, 

She  just  makes  out  to  spell  1 

Her  father — ^grandpapa  !  forgive 

This  erring  Up  its  smiles — 
Yowed  slie  should  make  the  finest  girl 

Within  a  hundred  miles  ; 
He  sent  her  to  a  stylish  school ; 

'Twas  in  her  thirteenth  June  ; 
And  with  her,  as  the  rules  required, 

"  Two  towels  and  a  spoon." 


They  braced  my  aunt  against  a  board, 

To  make  her  straight  and  tall ; 
They  laced  her  up,  they  starved  her  down, 

To  make  her  light  and  small. 
They  pinched  her  feet,  they  singed  her  hair, 

They  screwed  it  up  with  pins  : — 
O,  never  mortal  suftered  more 

In  penance  for  her  sins. 


So,  when  my  precious  aunt  was  done. 

My  grandsire  brought  her  back  ; 
(By  daylight,  lest  some  rabid  youth 

Might  follow  on  the  track ;) 
"Ah  !  "  said  my  grandsire,  as  he  shook 

Some  powder  in  his  pan, 
"  What  could  this  lovely  creature  do 

Against  a  desperate  man  ! " 

Alas  !  nor  chariot,  nor  barouche, 

Nor  bandit  cavalcade, 
Tore  from  the  trembling  father's  arms 

His  all-accomplished  maid. 
For  her  how  happy  had  it  been  I 

And  heaven  had  spared  to  me 
To  see  one  sad,  ungathered  rose 

On  my  ancestral  tree. 


THE   BEAVEEY   OF   BAILIE   NICOL  JAEVIE. 

[From  "Rot  Koy."     By  Sir  Walter  Scott.] 


llP^fBOUT  hulf  a  mile's  riding,  after  we 
ji'  crossed  the  bridge,  placed  us  at  the 
^y^^  door  of  a  public-house,  where  we  were 
to  pass  the  evening.  It  was  a  hovel  rather 
worse  than  better  than  that  in  which  we 
\\r  had  dined ;  but  its  little  windows  were 
I  lighted  up,  voices  were  heard  from  withiu) 

and  all  intimated  a  prospect  of  food  and 
shelter,  to  which  we  were  by  no  means  indifferent. 
Andrew  was  the  first  to  observe  that  there  was  a 
peeled  willow-wand  placed  across  the  half-open 
•door  of  the  little  inn.  He  hung  back,  and  advised 
Tis  not  to  enter.  "  For,"  said  Andrew,  "  some  of 
their  chiefs  and  grit  men  are  birling  at  the  usque- 
baugh in  by  there,  and  dinna  want  to  be  disturbed ; 
and  the  least  we'll  get,  if  we  gang  ram-stam  in  on 
them,  will  be  a  broken  head,  to  learn  us  better 
havings,  if  we  dinna  come  by  the  length  of  a  cauld 
dirk  in  oiu-  wame,  whilk  is  just  as  likely." 

I  looked  at  the  Bailie,  who  acknowledged,  in  a 


whisper,  "that  the  gowk  had  some  reason  for 
singing,  ance  in  the  year." 

Meantime  a  staring  half-clad  wench  or  two  came 
out  of  the  inn  and  the  neighbouring  cottages,  on 
hearing  the  sound  of  our  horses'  feet.  No  one 
bade  us  welcome,  nor  did  any  one  offer  to  take  our 
horses,  from  which  we  had  alighted ;  and  to  our 
various  inquiries,  the  hopeless  response  of  "  Ha 
niel  Sassenach "  was  the  only  answer  we  could 
extract.  The  Bailie,  however,  found  (in  his  ex- 
perience) a  way  to  make  them  speak  English.  "  If 
I  gie  ye  a  bawbee,"  said  he  to  an  urchin  of  about 
ten  years  old,  with  a  fragment  of  a  tattered  plaid 
about  him,  "  will  you  understand  Sassenach  1 " 

"  Ay,  ay,  that  will  I,"  replied  the  brat  in  very 
decent  English. 

"Then  gang  and  tell  your  mammy,  my  man, 
there's  twa  Sassenach  gentlemen  come  to  speak 
wi'  her." 

The  landlady  presently  appeared,  with  a  lighted 


THE    BRAYERY   OF   BAILIE    NICOL   JARYIE. 


179 


piece  of  split  fir  blazing  in  her  hand.  The  turjien- 
tine  in  this  species  of  torch  (which  is  generally 
dug  from  out  the  turf-bogs)  makes  it  blaze  and 
sparkle  readily,  so  that  it  is  often  used  in  the 
Highlands  in  lieu  of  candles.  On  this  occasion 
such  a  torch  illuminated  the  wild  and  anxious 
features  of  a  female,  pale,  thin,  and  rather  above 
the  usual  size,  whose  soiled  and  ragged  dress, 
though  aided  by  a  plaid  or  tartan  screen,  barely 
served  the  purposes  of  decency,  and  certainly  not 
those  of  comfort.  Her  black  hair,  which  escaped 
in  uncombed  elf-locks  from  under  her  coif,  as  well 
as  the  strange  and  embarrassed  look  with  which 
she  regarded  us,  gave  me  the  idea  of  a,  witch  dis- 
turbed in  the  midst  of  her  unlawful  rites.  She 
plainly  refused  to  admit  us  into  the  house.  We 
remonstrated  anxiously,  and  pleaded  the  length  of 
our  journey,  the  state  of  our  horses,  and  the  cer- 
tainty that  there  was  not  another  place  where  we 
could  be  received  nearer  than  Callander,  which 
the  Bailie  stated  to  be  seven  Scots  miles  distant. 
How  many  these  may  exactly  amount  to  in  English 
measurement  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain, 
but  I  think  the  double  ratio  may  be  pretty  safely 
taken  as  a  medium  computation.  The  obdurate 
hostess  treated  our  expostulation  with  contempt. 
"Better  gang  farther  than  fare  waur,"  she  said, 
speaking  the  Scottish  Lowland  dialect,  and  being 
indeed  a  native  of  the  Lennox  district.  "Her 
house  was  taen  up  wi'  them  wadna  like  to  be 
intruded  on  wi'  strangers.  She  didna  ken  wha 
mair  might  be  there — redcoats,  it  might  be,  frae 
the  garrison."  (These  last  words  she  spoke  under 
her  breath,  and  with  very  strong  emphasis.)  "  The 
night,"  she  said,  "was  fair  abune  head — a  night 
amang  the  heather  wad  caller  our  bloods — we 
might  sleep  in  our  claes  as  mony  a  gude  blade 
does  in  the  scabbard — there  w?sna  muckle  flow- 
moss  in  the  shaw,  if  we  took  up  our  quarters  right, 
and  we  might  pit  up  our  horses  to  the  hill,  naebody 
wad  say  naething  against  it." 

"  But,  my  good  woman,"  said  I,  while  the  Bailie 
groaned  and  remained  undecided,  "  it  is  six  hours 
since  we  dined,  and  we  have  not  taken  a  morsel 
since,  I  am  positively  dying  with  hunger,  and 
I  have  no  taste  for  taking  up.  my  abode  supperless 
among  these  mountains  of  yours.  I  positively 
must  enter ;  and  make  the  best  apology  you  can 
to  your  guests  for  adding  a  stranger  or  two  to 
their  number.  Andrew,  you  will  see  the  horses 
put  up." 

The  Hecate  looked  at  me  with  surprise,  and  then 
ejaculated,  "  A  wilfu'  man  will  hae  his  way — them 
that  will  to  Cupar  maun  to  Cupar  !  To  see  thae 
English  belly-gods — he  has  had  ae  fu'  meal  the 
day  already,  and  he'll  venture  life  and  liberty 
rather  than  he'll  want  a  het  supper  !  Set  roasted 
beef  and  pudding  on  the  opposite  side  o'  the  pit  o' 
Tophet,  and  an  Englishman  will  mak  a  spang  at 


it.  But  I  wash  my  hands  o't.  Follow  me,  sir'^ 
(to  Andrew),  "  and  I'll  show  ye  where  to  pit  th^^ 
beasts." 

I  own  I  was  somewhat  dismayed  at  my  land- 
lady's expressions,  which  seemed  to  be  ominous  of 
some  approaching  danger.  I  did  not,  however, 
choose  to  shrink  back  after  having  declared  my 
resolution,  and  accordingly  I  boldly  entered  the 
house  ;  and  after  narrowly  escaping  breaking  my 
shins  over  a  turf  back  and  a  salting-tub,  which 
stood  on  either  side  of  the  narrow  exterior  passage, 
I  opened  a  crazy  half-decayed  door,  constructed 
not  of  plank,  but  of  wicker,  and,  followed  by  the 
Bailie,  entered  into  the  principal  apartment  of  this 
Scottish  caravansary. 

The  interior  presented  a  view  which  seemed 
singular  enough  to  southern  eyes.  The  fire,  fed 
with  blazing  turf  and  branches  of  dried  wood, 
blazed  merrily  in  the  centre  ;  but  the  smoke, 
having  no  means  to  escape  but  through  a  hole  in 
the  roof,  eddied  round  the  rafters  of  the  cottage, 
and  hung  in  sable  folds  at  the  height  of  about 
five  feet  from  the  floor.  The  space  beneath  was 
kept  pretty  clear,  by  innumerable  currents  of  air 
which  rushed  towards  the  fire  from  the  broken 
panel  of  basket-work  which  served  as  a  door,  from 
two  square  holes,  designed  as  ostensible  windows, 
through  one  of  which  was  thrust  a  plaid,  and 
through  the  other  a  tattered  great-coat ;  and  more- 
over, through  various  less  distinguishable  apertures 
in  the  walls  of  the  tenement,  which,  being  built  of 
round  stones  and  turf,  cemented  by  mud,  let  in  the 
atmosphere  at  innumerable  crevices. 

At  an  old  oaken  table,  adjoining  to  the  fire,  sat 
three  men,  guests  apparently,  whom  it  was  impos- 
sible to  regard  with  indiiference.  Two  were  in 
the  Highland  dress  ;  the  one,  a  little  dark-com- 
plexioned man,  with  a  lively,  quick,  and  irritable 
expression  of  features,  wore  the  trews,  or  close 
pantaloons,  wove  out  of  a  sort  of  chequered  stock- 
ing stuff.  The  Bailie  whispered  me  that  "he 
behoved  to  be  a  man  of  some  consequence,  for 
that  naebody  but  their  Duinh^wassels  wore  the 
trews  ;  they  were  ill  to  weave  exactly  to  their 
Highland  pleasure." 

The  other  mountaineer  was  a  very  tall,  strong 
man,  with  a  quantity  of  reddish  hair,  freckled 
face,  high  cheek-bones,  and  long  chin— a  sort  of 
caricature  of  the  national  features  of  Scotland. 
The  tartan  which  he  wore  difi"ered  from  that  of 
his  companion,  as  it  had  much  more  scarlet  in  it, 
whereas  the  shades  of  black  and  dark  green  pre- 
dominated in  the  chequers  of  the  other.  The 
third,  who  sat  at  the  small  table,  was  in  the  Low- 
land dress— a  bold,  stout-looking  man,  with  a  cast 
of  military  daring  in  his  eye  and  manner,  his 
riding-dress  showily  and  profusely  laced,  and  his 
cocked-hat  of  formidable  dimensions.  His  hanger 
and  a  pair  of  pistols  lay  on  the  table  before  him. 


180 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


Each  of  the  Highlanders  had  their  naked  dirks 
ttuck  \ipright  in  the  board  beside  him— an  emblem, 
J  .vas  afterwards  informed,  but  surely  a  strange 
one,  that  their  compotation  was  not  to  be  inter- 
rupted by  any  brawl.  A  mighty  pewter  measure, 
containing  about  an  English  quart  of  usquebaugh, 
a  liquor  nearly  as  strong  as  brandy,  which  the 
Higlilanders  distil  from  malt,  and  drink  imdiluted 
in  excessive  quantities,  was  placed  before  these 
worthies.  A  broken  glass,  with  a  wooden  foot, 
served  as  a  drinking-cup  to  the  whole  party,  and 
circulated  with  a  rapidity  which,  considering  the 
potency  of  the  liquor,  seemed  absolutely  marvel- 
lous. These  men  spoke  loud  and  eagerly  together, 
sometimes  in  Gaelic,  at  other  times  in  English. 
Another  Highlander,  wrapt  in  his  plaid,  reclined 
on  the  floor,  his  head  resting  on  a  stone,  from 
which  it  was  only  separated  by  a  wisp  of  straw, 
and  slept,  or  seemed  to  sleep,  without  attending  to 
what  was  going  on  around  him.  He  also  was 
probably  a  stranger,  for  he  lay  in  full  dress,  and 
accoutred  with  the  sword  and  target,  the  usual 
arms  of  his  countrymen  when  on  a  journey.  Cribs 
there  were  of  ditferent  dimensions  beside  the 
walls,  formed,  some  of  fractured  boards,  some  of 
shattered  wicker-work  or  plaited  boughs,  in  which 
slumbered  the  family  of  the  house,  men,  women, 
and  children,  their  places  of  repose  only  concealed 
by  the  dusky  wreaths  of  vapour  which  arose  above, 
below,  and  around  them. 

Our  entrance  was  made  so  quietly,  and  the 
carousers  I  have  described  were  so  eagerly  engaged 
in  their  discussions,  that  we  escaped  their  notice 
for  a  minute  or  two.  But  I  observed  the  High- 
lander who  lay  beside  the  fire  raise  himself  on  his 
elbow  as  we  entered,  and,  dra^ving  his  plaid  over 
the  lower  part  of  his  face,  fix  his  look  on  us  for  a 
few  seconds,  after  which  he  resumed  his  recum- 
bent posture,  and  seemed  again  to  betake  himself 
to  the  repose  which  our  entrance  had  interrupted. 

We  advanced  to  the  fire,  which  was  an  agreeable 
spectacle  after  our  late  ride,  during  the  chillness  of 
an  autumn  evening  among  the  mountains,  and 
first  attracted  the  attention  of  the  guests  who  had 
preceded  us,  by  calling  for  the  landlady.  She 
approached,  looking  doubtfully  and  timidly,  now 
at  us,  now  at  the  other  party,  and  returned  a 
hesitating  and  doubtful  answer  to  our  request  to 
have  something  to  eat. 

"She  didna  ken,"  she  said,  "she  wasna  sure 
there  was  onything  in  the  house,"  and  then  modi- 
fied her  refusal  with  the  qualification — "that  is, 
onything  fit  for  the  like  of  us." 

I  assured  her  we  were  indifferent  to  the  quality 
of  our  supper ;  and  looking  round  for  the  means 
of  accommodation,  which  were  not  easily  to  be 
found,  I  arranged  an  old  hen-coop  as  a  seat  for 
Mr.  Jarvie,  and  turned  down  a  broken  tub  to  serve 
for  my  own.  Andrew  Fairservice  entered  presently 


afterwards,  and  took  a  place  in  silence  behind  our 
backs.  The  natives,  as  I  may  call  them,  continued 
staring  at  us  with  an  air  as  if  confounded  by  our 
assurance,  and  we — at  least,  I  myself — disguised 
as  well  as  we  could,  under  an  appearance  of  in- 
difference, any  secret  anxiety  we  might  feel  con- 
cerning the  mode  in  which  we  were  to  be  received 
by  those  whose  privacy  we  had  disturbed. 

At  length,  the  lesser  Highlander,  addressing 
himself  to  me,  said,  in  very  good  English,  and  in 
a  tone  of  great  haughtiness,  "  Ye  make  yourself  at 
home,  sir,  I  see." 

"  I  usually  do  so,"  I  replied,  "  when  I  come  into 
a  house  of  public  entertainment." 

"  And  did  she  na  see,"  said  the  taller  man,  "  by 
the  white  wand  at  the  door,  that  gentlemans  had 
taken  up  the  public-hoiise  on  their  ain  business*?" 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  understand  the  customs  of 
this  country ;  but  I  am  yet  to  learn,"  I  replied, 
"  how  three  persons  should  be  entitled  to  exclude 
all  other  travellers  from  the  only  place  of  shelter 
and  refreshment  for  miles  round." 

"  There's  nae  reason  for't,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
Bailie;  "we  mean  nae  oftence — but  there's  neither 
law  nor  reason  for't — but  as  far  as  a  stoup  o'  gude 
brandy  wad  make  up  the  quarrel,  we,  being  peace- 
able folk,  wad  be  willing " 

"  Hang  your  brandy,  sir  !"  said  the  Lowlander, 
adjusting  his  cocked-hat  fiercely  upon  his  head ; 
"we  desire  neither  your  brandy  nor  your  com- 
pany," and  up  he  rose  from  his  seat.  His  com- 
panions also  arose,  muttering  to  each  other,  draw- 
ing up  their  plaids,  and  snorting  and  sniffing  the 
air  after  the  manner  of  their  countrymen  when 
working  themselves  into  a  passion. 

"  I  tauld  ye  what  wad  come,  gentlemen,"  said 
the  landlady,  "an  ye  wad  hae  been  tauld.  Get 
awa'  wi'  ye  out  o'  my  house,  and  make  nae  dis- 
turbance here — there's  nae  gentleman  be  disturbed 
at  Jeanie  Mac  Alpine's  an  she  can  hinder.  A  wheen 
idle  English  loons,  gaun  about  the  country  under 
cloud  o'  night,  and  disturbing  honest  peaceable 
gentlemen  that  are  drinking  their  drap  drink  at 
the  fireside  ! " 

At  another  time  I  should  have  thought  of  the 
old  Latin  adage — 

"  Dat  Teniam  corTis,  vexat  censura  columbas  "— 

but  I  had  not  any  time  for  classical  quotation,  for 
there  was  obviously  a  fray  about  to  ensue,  at 
which,  feeling  myself  indignant  at  the  inhospitable 
insolence  with  which  I  was  treated,  I  was  totally 
indifferent,  unless  on  the  Bailie's  account,  whose 
person  and  qualities  were  ill  qualified  for  such 
an  adventure.  I  started  up,  however,  on  seeing 
the  others  rise,  and  dropped  my  cloak  from  my 
shoulders,  that  I  might  be  ready  to  stand  on  the 
defensive. 
"  We  are  three  to  three,"  said  the  lesser  High- 


THE   BRAVERY   OF   BAILIE  NICOL  JARYIE. 


181 


lander,  glancing  Ms  eyes  at  our  party  ;  "  if  ye  be 
pretty  men,  draw  !"  and,  unsheathing  his  broad- 
sword, he  advanced  on  me.  I  put  myself  in  a 
posture  of  defence,  and,  aware  of  the  superiority  of 
my  weapon,  a  rapier  or  small-sword,  was  little 
afraid  of  the  issue  of  the  contest.  The  Bailie 
behaved  with  unexpected  mettle.  As  he  saw  the 
gigantic  Highlander  confront  him  with  his  weapon 
drawn,  he  tugged  for  a  second  or  two  at  the  hilt  of 
his  shabble,  as  he  called  it ;  but  finding  it  loath  to 
quit  the  sheath,  to  which  it  had  long  been  secured 
by  rust  and  disuse,  he  seized  as  a  substitute  on 


set,  was  sorely  bested.  The  weight  of  his  weapon, 
the  corpulence  of  his  person,  the  very  efferves- 
cence of  his  own  passions,  were  rapidly  exhausting 
both  his  strength  and  his  breath,  and  he  was 
almost  at  the  mercy  of  his  antagonist,  when  up 
started  the  sleeping  Highlander  from  the  floor  on 
which  he  reclined,  with  his  naked  sword  and  target 
in  his  hand,  and  threw  himself  between  the  dis- 
comfited magistrate  and  his  assailant,  exclaiming, 
"Her  nainsell  has  eaten  the  town  pread  at  the 
Cross  o'  Glasgow,  and  py  her  troth  she'll  fight  for 
Bailie  Sharvie  at  the  Clachan  of  Aberfoil — tat  will 


'The  Bailie  behaved  with  tikexpected  mettle."    (Drawn  by  W.  H.  Overcnd.) 


the  red-hot  coulter  of  a  plough  which  had  been 
employed  in  arranging  the  fire  by  way  of  a  poker, 
and  brandished  it  with  such  efiect,  that  at  the 
first  pass  he  set  the  Highlander's  plaid  on  fire,  and 
compelled  him  to  keep  a  respectful  distance  till  he 
could  get  it  extinguished.  Andrew,  on  the  con- 
trary, who  ought  to  have  faced  the  Lowland  cham- 
pion, had,  I  grieve  to  say  it,  vanished  at  the  very 
commencement  of  the  fray.  But  his  antagonist, 
crying,  "  Fair  play  !  fair  play  ! "  seemed  cour- 
teously disposed  to  take  no  share  in  the  scuffle. 
Thus  we  commenced  our  rencontre  on  fair  terms 
as  to  niunbers.  My  own  aim  was  to  possess 
myself,  if  possible,  of  my  antagonist's  weapon ; 
but  I  was  deterred  from  closing  for  fear  of  the 
dirk  which  he  held  in  his  left  hand,  and  used  in 
parrying  the  thrusts  of  my  rapier.  Meantime  the 
Bailie,  notwithstanding  the  success  of  his  first  on- 


she  e'en  ! "  And  seconding  his  words  with  deeds, 
this  unexpected  auxiliary  made  his  sword  whistle 
about  the  ears  of  his  tall  countryman,  who,  nothing 
abashed,  returned  his  blows  with  interest.  But 
being  both  accoutred  with  round  targets  made 
of  wood,  studded  with  brass,  and  covered  with 
leather,  with  which  they  readily  parried  each 
other's  strokes,  their  combat  was  attended  with 
much  more  noise  and  clatter  than  serious  risk  of 
damage.  It  appeared,  indeed,  that  there  was 
more  of  bravado  than  of  serious  attempt  to  do  us 
any  injury  ;  for  the  Lowland  gentleman,  who,  as  I 
mentioned,  had  stood  aside  for  want  of  an  antago- 
nist when  the  brawl  commenced,  was  now  pleased 
to  act  the  part  of  moderator  and  peace-maker. 

"  Haud  your  hands — haud  your  hands — eneugh 
done  —  eneugh  done! — the  quarrel's  no  mortal. 
The  strange  gentlemen  have  shown  themselves 


182 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


men  of  honour  and  gien  reasonable  satisfaction. 
I'll  stand  on  mine  honour  as  kittle  as  ony  man, 
but  I  hate  unnecessary  bloodshed." 

It  was  not,  of  course,  my  wish  to  protract  the 
fray — my  adversary  seemed  equally  disposed  to 
sheath  his  sword — the  Bailie,  gasping  for  breath, 
might  be  considered  as  hors  de  combat,  and  our 
two  sword-and-buckler  men  gave  up  their  contest 
with  as  much  indifference  as  they  had  entered 
into  it. 

"And  now,"  said  the  worthy  gentleman  who 
acted  as  umpire,  "  let  us  drink  and  gree  like  honest 
fellows — the  house  will  hand  m  a'.  I  propose  that 
this  good  little  gentleman  that  seems  sair  for- 
foughen,  as  I  may  say,  in  this  tuilzie,  shall  send 
for  a  tass  o'  brandy,  and  I'll  pay  for  another,  by 
way  of  archilowe,*  and  then  we'll  birl  our  bawbees 
a'  round  about,  like  brethren." 

"And  fa's  to  pay  my  new  ponnie  plaid,"  said 
the  larger  Highlander,  "  wi'  a  hole  burnt  in't  ane 
might  put  a  kail-pat  through  1  Saw  ever  onybody 
a  decent  gentleman  fight  wi'  a  firebrand  before  1 " 

"  Let  that  be  nae  hindrance,"  said  the  BaiHe, 
who  had  now  recovered  his  breath,  and  was  at 
once  disposed  to  enjoy  the  triumph  of  having 
behaved  with  spirit,  and  avoid  the  necessity  of 
again  resorting  to  siich  hard  and  doubtful  arbitre- 
ment.  "Gin  I  hae broken  the  head,"  he  said,  "I 
sail  find  the  plaister.  A  new  plaid  sail  ye  hae, 
and  o'  the  best — your  ain  clan-colours,  man — an 
ye  will  tell  me  where  it  can  be  sent  t'ye  frae 
Glasco." 


"  I  needna  name  my  clan — I  am  of  a  king's  clan,, 
as  is  weel  kend,"  said  the  Highlander ;  "  but  ye 
may  tak  a  bit  o'  the  plaid — figh  !  she  smells  hke  a 
singit  sheep's  head — and  that'll  learn  ye  the  sett 
— and  a  gentleman,  that's  a  cousin  o'  my  ain,  that 
carries  eggs  doun  frae  Glencroe,  will  ca'  for't  about 
^^lartimas,  an  ye  will  tell  her  where  ye  bide.  But, 
honest  gentleman,  neist  time  ye  fight,  and  ye  hae 
ony  respect  for  your  athversary,  let  it  be  wi'  your 
sword,  man,  since  ye  wear  ane,  and  no  wi'  thae 
het  culters  and  fireprands,  like  a  wild  Indian." 

"  Conscience  ! "  replied  the  Bailie,  "  every  man 
maun  do  as  he  dow — my  sword  hasna  seen  the 
light  since  Bothwell  Brigg,  when  my  father,  that's 
dead  and  gane,  ware  it ;  and  I  kenna  weel  if  it 
was  forthcoming  then  either,  for  the  battle  was  o' 
the  briefest.  At  ony  rate,  it's  glewed  to  the  scab- 
bard now  beyond  my  i^ower  to  part  them ;  and, 
finding  that,  I  e'en  grippit  at  the  first  thing  I 
could  make  a  fend  wi'.  I  trow  my  fighting  days  is 
done,  though  I  Like  ill  to  take  the  scorn,  for  a' 
that.  But  where's  the  honest  lad  that  tuik  my 
quarrel  on  himsel'  sae  frankly? — I'se  bestow  a 
gill  o'  aquavitoe  on  him,  an  I  suld  never  ca'  for 
anither." 

The  champion  for  whom  he  looked  around  was, 
however,  no  longer  to  be  seen.  He  had  escaped, 
unobserved  by  the  Bailie,  immediately  when  the 
brawl  was  ended,  yet  not  before  I  had  recognised, 
in  his  wild  features  and  shaggy  red  hair,  our 
acquaintance  Dougal,  the  fugitive  tm-nkey  of  the 
Glasgow  gaoL 


A    DREADFUL     AFFAIE. 


)  T'S  all  very  well  to  report  a  man,  and 
make  minutes  about  him,  and  all  that 
sorter  thing,"  said  John  Pipley,  A  B 
247,  as  he  went  down  Great  Bulky 
Street,  beating  his  white-gloved 
hands  together,  and  rolling  his  eyes  about  in  all 
directions.  "A  man  can't  be  all  hyes,  like  a 
peacock,  and  looking  everywhere  at  once.  Twenty 
shillings  a  week  aint  much,  you  know,  is  it,  for 
board  and  lodging,  and  washing,  and  the  missus, 
and  the  young  uns  %  Here,  just  get  out  o'  that, 
now,  will  yer  1 " 

"  I  aint  in  nobody's  way,  am  I  ?  " 
"  Yes,  you  are  ;  so  go  on  !    That  there  barrer  o' 
youm's  been  getting  bigger  every  week,  and  how's 
carriages  to  draw  up  if  you're  here  1 " 

This  bit  of  fencing  took  place  between  P.O. 
Pipley  and  a  man  with  an  apple  barrow — the  fruit 
vendor  going  off  grumbling,  and  P.O.  on  the  look- 

•  Archilowe,  of  unkaowu  derivation,  signifies  a  peace-oflfering. 


j  out  for  workers  of  mischief  against  the  laws  of  her 
Sovereign  Majesty  the  C^ueen.  He  was  not  a 
perfect  man,  John  Pipley  :  he  was  a  good  officer, 
and  worked  hard  for  his  pay ;  but  he  was  not 
perfect,  and  he  knew  it.  In  earlier  days,  before 
Mrs.  Pipley  agreed  to  rest  in  future  upon  his 
manly  breast,  he  had  been  seen  more  than  once  to 
steal  up  from  areas,  and  close  the  gate  very  carefully 
after  him — of  course  returning  from -voyages  of 
investigation  and  examination  of  locks,  bolts,  and 
bars  for  the  protection  of  her  Majesty's  liege 
subjects. 

Of  course  he  had  on  these  occasions  tried  the 
coal-cellar,  and  looked  into  the  dustbin.  But  why 
was  a  gentle  cough  heard,  and  a  door  closed  softly 
when  John  came  up  ?  and,  again,  why  bulged  those 
pockets,  to  the  distortion  of  the  symmetry  of  his 
manly  form — the  knobblefying  of  his  neat  blue 
uniform  1 

It  is  a  very  old  joke  to  accuse  policemen  of  par- 
tiality for  cooks ;  but  the  charge  is  none  the  less 


A    DREADFUL  AFFAIR. 


183 


"true,  and  the  great  Force  need  not  blush.  Have 
not  the  greatest  generals  and  statesmen  found 
solace  in  the  society  of  the  other  sex  1 

But  John  was  now  a  married  man,  and  devoted 
himself  most  strongly  to  his  profession.  Evil-doers 
feared  him,  and  many  were  the  scoundrels  he  had 
haled  off  to  prison,  with  penal  results.  It  was  not 
often  that  he  interfered  with  applewomen.  His 
orders  were  to  keep  the  way  clear ;  but,  as  John 
said,  "We  must  all  live,  and  selling  apples  is 
honest  —  as  honest  as  selling  tea  and  sugar  — 
honester,  for  you  can't  adulterate  your  apples, 
though  you  may  boil  an  orange."  But  John  was 
now  under  a  cloud,  and  he  did  interfere  with 
apple  men  and  women ;  "  chivied  "  small  boys  ; 
cuffed  one  who  had  "  cut  behind  "  a  cab  and 
nearly  been  run  over  ;  frowned  severely  at  a  f uzee 
seller  ;  scowled  at  the  patchouli  native  in  cummer- 
bund, till  the  coffee-coloured  Hindoo  shivered  in 
his  shoes  and  smiled  pathetically.  John  even  had 
words  with  an  earl's  coachman,  and  moved  him  on 
in  spite  of  the  coronet  upon  the  panel  and  the 
dashing  bays. 

For  John  was  under  a  cloud.  Mysterious  rob- 
beries had  y-een  taking  place  on  his  beat,  and 
though  he  had  done  his  best  to  catch  the  members 
of  the  gang,  they  had  been  too  much  for  him,  and 
the  robberies  went  on. 

Now  this  was  very  galling  to  a  man  who  had 
set  his  mind  upon  rising  in  life.  Blue  was  very 
well  ;  but  John  wanted  to  wear  black,  with  silk 
facings.  P.O.  was  decent,  sergeant  was  better ; 
but  inspector,  and  then  superintendent  —  those 
were  the  goals  that  John  Pipley  wished  to  reach  in 
the  race  of  life  ;  and  now,  instead  of  going  forward, 
his  movements  were  retrograde  :  he  was  threatened 
with  minutes  and  reports,  and  all  because  of  the 
scoundrels  who  had  been  too  much  for  him. 

"  I'll  be  down  upon  them,  though,  one  of  these 
-days,"  said  John.  "  I'll  put  salt  on  some  of  your 
tails,  my  pretty  gaol-birds.  It's  'ware  hawk  with 
you,  so  I  tell  you,  my  fine  fellows." 

So  he  went  on,  up  and  down,  down  and  up,  and 
had  nothing  to  report  at  last. 

And  the  robberies  went  on.  A  carpet  bag  was 
taken  from  a  cab  in  motion.  Next  day,  a  shawl, 
and  a  carriage  timepiece  were  stolen  as  the 
barouche  stood  at  a  fashionable  milliner's  door. 
The  disturbance  about  that  was  hardly  over  when 
a  boy  was  hustled,  and  a  valuable  parcel  wrested 
from  his  hands.  Again,  a  page  was  bonne  ced,  and 
a  pet  dog  and  a  mother-o'-pearl  opera-glass  taken 
from  his  encircling  arms. 
John  Pipley  was  in  despair. 
Another  day.  Great-coat  and  umbrella  from  the 
front  hall  of  Lord  Rubblemede's  town  mansion,  in 
Upper  Crook  Street ;  two  umbrellas  from  No.  24 
"in  the  same  street,  and  a  roll  of  carpet  from  the 
dbig  draper's  round  the  corner. 


John  had  a  sharp  lecture  from  the  inspector,  and 
he  went  again  upon  his  beat,  horribly  wroth. 

"If  I'd  only  been  by  that  shop-door  I  could 
have  nailed  them,"  said  John,  angrily ;  "  but  a 
man  can't  be  everywhere  at  once.  I'U  have  them, 
though,  next  time,  hang  me  if  I  don't !  or  else  I'll 
leave  the  force." 

He  was  very  busy  that  day,  and  took  up  one  man 
on  suspicion  ;  but  only  got  snubbed  for  his  pains. 

"  I  shall  be  too  many  for  them  yet,"  said  John, 
as  he  swung  leisurely  down  a  street.  "  Every  dog 
has  his  day,  watch-dogs  as  well  as  mongrels, 
a-running  about  and  doing  mischief;  but  when 
I  do  get  hold,  why  then " 

He  paused  before  an  orange  woman  who  was  en- 
croaching upon  the  pavement,  and,  after  warning 
her  off,  began  to  ponder  on  her  appearance.  Some 
one  must  have  committed  these  robberies,  and  why 
not  she  as  well  as  any  one  else  1  She  was  bulky, 
and  had  a  habit  of  sitting  in  a  sieve  packed  with 
her  legs  under  her,  to  keep  her  warm  ;  her  bonnet 
was  very  much  crushed,  and  her  plaid  shawl  all 
awry  —  all  of  which  proved  nothing ;  but  they 
might  be  found  to  be  associated  in  some  way  with 
the  late  robberies.  It  was  astonishing  what  great 
things  sometimes  grew  out  of  small,  as  the  detective 
had  often  shown, 

John  Pipley  could  not  make  the  sides  of  the 
puzzle  fit,  so  he  moved  on  himself. 

Ah  !  Now  that  was  more  likely.  An  organ- 
grinder.  Hum !  Always  loitering  about  and 
turning  that  handle — what  opportunities  for  think- 
ing out  villainy  !  But  no,  it  would  not  do.  He 
couldn't  take  up  Giuseppe  on  suspicion  ;  so  the  man 
ground  out  the  march  from  "  Faust  "  like  so  nmch 
musical  meal  to  be  blown  aAvay  upon  the  wind, 
the  sounds  buzzing  in  John  Pipley's  ears,  even 
when  he  was  out  of  sight. 

"  I'll  have  'em  yet,— I'll  have  'em  yet,"  said 
John,  as  he  chewed  the  cud  of  his  disappointment, 
and  thought  of  his  inspector's  words ;  but  his 
business  was  very  slack,  the  people  were  awfully 
well-behaved,  and  it  was  very  disappointing. 

A  cab  rattled  by,  laden  with  luggage  ;  but  no 
scoundrel  was  dislodging  a  portmanteau  ;  and  he  - 
John  Pipley — could  not  run  after  that  cab  all  the 
way  to  the  Great  Northern  to  see  if  it  arrived 
there  safe.  It  was  not  reasonable,  and  would  be 
horribly  wanting  in  dignity. 

How  his  head  worked  !  How  he  beat  together 
his  gloves,  in  which  his  fingers  itched  to  get  at  crime 
or  longed  to  lay  hold  of  his  truncheon,  and  hit  at 
something,  hard — very  hard! 

Up  and  down,  here  and  there  ;  but  nothing  on 
the  wing.  Not  even  a  row  between  somebcdy  s 
coachman  and  a  cabby ;  not  even  a  horse  dowr  ; 
all  was  peace  when,  he  wanted  war — war  to  the 
truncheon. 

It  was  enough  to  make  any  policeman  sigh,  and 


184 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


he  sighed  accordingly.  Ah  !  if  some  daring 
scoundrel  would  only  dash  a  brick  through  one  of 
those  great  panes  of  glass,  and  seize  handfuls  of  the 
glorious  jewels  therein  1  With  what  a  feeling  of  ex- 
quisite delight  he  could  bring  down  his  truncheon 
upon  the  evil-doer's  arm,  and  make  him  drop  the 
treasure,  which  would  fly  scintillating  all  over 
the  pavement ;  and  then,  with  the  fellow's  cuff 
tightly  held,  the  jewels  gathered  and  placed  in  his 
— John  Pipley's — pocket,  how  he  could  proudly 
march  the  thief  off,  enter  the  charge,  and  deposit 
the  culprit,  like  so  much  honey  which  he  had 
gathered,  safely  in  a  cell ! 

Ah,  and  court  next  day !  Yes,  he  would  shine 
there  as  the  active  and  intelligent  officer.  The 
jeweller  would,  of  course,  come  down  handsome, 
and  it  would  be  a  step  towards  promotion.  Yes,  if 
such  an  attempt  were  only  made,  and  he  was  at 
hand  to  stay  it  I  What  a  crack  at  the  gang  it 
would  be — if  it  were  not  a  castle  in  the  air. 

P.O.  Pipley  beat  his  gloves  together  and  sighed — 
sighed  deeply, 

"  I  was  on  the  look-out  when  that  last  carriage 
robbery  came  off,  and  I'd  almost  go  so  far  as  to 
swear  that  I  saw  that  roU  of  carpet  perfectly  safe 
ten  minutes  before  it  was  stolen.  Though  it 
couldn't  have  been  safe,  or  it  wouldn't  have  been 
taken.     Ah!     I  shall  have  'em  yet." 

"  Now  then,  Bobby,  give's  a  lift  with  this  here, 
there's  a  good  'un." 

John  Pipley  had  been  slowly  approaching  a  great 
cheesemonger's  shop,  at  one  end  of  which  stood  a 
light  cart,  with  the  tail-board  down,  and  an  ordi- 
nary-looking man  was  trying  to  lift  a  large  firkin 
into  the  cart,  its  fellow  being  already  there. 

"  Heavy  ?  "said  PC.  Pipley. 

"  Out  an'  out,"  said  the  man. 

John  Pipley  was  naturally  good-natured.  He 
knew,  too,  the  value  of  aid  in  a  row  :  how  often 
the  law  was  glad  to  appeal  to  a  civilian  for  help  in 
the  capture  of  some  ugly  customer.  So,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,  he  slipped  off  his  gloves, 
seized  one  end  of  the  little  barrel,  and  with  a  swing 
it  was  safely  deposited  in  the  cart. 

"A  little  furder,  old  un,"  said  the  man; 
"  now,  then,  both  together.     Another  to  come." 

A  vigorous  push  sent  the  firkin  right  forward 
beside  the  other. 

"  Now  this  here,"  said  the  man, "  and  then  there's 
the  price  of  a  pint,"  as  he  stepped  up  to  an  egg- 
box  lying  close  mider  the  cheesemonger's  window. 

"All  right,"  said  John;  "but  just  tell  your 
people  as  it  aint  safe  to  leave  these  things  out ; 
there's  been  a  good  many  robberies  about." 

"  Well,  I  told  our  foreman  as  it  wasn't  safe," 
said  the  man ;  "  but  he  called  me  a  fool  for  my 
pains.     Now,  then." 

John  Pipley  pocketed  the  twopence  offered  to 
him,  got  his  fingers  under  one  end  of  the  straw- 


packed  case,  the  man  got  his  under  the  other  ;  the 
box  was  rested  on  the  tail  of  the  cart,  leisurely 
thrust  in,  the  tail-board  rattled  up,  pins  and  chains 
secured,  the  man  climbed  into  the  cart,  a  mutual 
nod  of  good-fellowship  was  exchanged,  the  reins 
were  shaken,  the  horse  flicked,  and  away  it  rattled 
while  P.O.  Pipley  slowly  replaced  his  gloves. 

"  Luck's  dead  against  me,"  he  said — "  dead  as 
dead  ;  but  I'll  have  'em  yet.  If  some  one  would 
only  do  something.  If  I'd  had  any  luck  at  all,  I 
should  have  nobbled  some  one  after  them  butter 
kegs.     Heighho !  nothing  never  falls  in  my  way." 

All  through  the  afternoon,  like  a  law-preserving 
and  intelligent  officer,  did  PC.  Pipley  wander 
about  his  beat,  longing  to  get  a  shot  at  some  rascal 
or  another;  but  everything  was  quieter  than  usual, 
and  the  time  for  relief  coming,  P.C.  Pipley  returned 
to  the  station. 

"  Another  robbery  on  your  beat  this  afternoon, 
Pipley,"  said  the  inspector.  "  Strange  thing  ! 
Most  mysterious  !  But  it  must  be  stopped.  We 
can't  go  on  like  this.  I  must  put  another  man 
on." 

"  No,  sir,  don't,  please ;  I'm  down  on  'em  first 
chance,"  said  Pipley ;  "  but  what  is  it  this  time — 
another  timepiece  out  of  a  carriage  1 " 

"No  ;  a—" 

"  Not  a  great-coat  from  a  hall  ]  " 

"  No  ;  a  shop-door  robbery." 

"  And  I  told  'em  to  be  careful  about  them  there 
rolls  of  carpet,"  said  Pipley. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  harsh,"  said  the  inspector  ; 
"  and  I  suppose  you  were  watched  out  of  the  way. 
A  man  can't  be  everywhere  at  once,  nor  yet  be 
all  eyes,  as  the  ratepayers  and  the  press  seem  to 
think." 

"  What  was  it  this  time,  sir  1 "  said  Pipley, 

"  Oh,  a  very  daring  affair — butter  firkins  and  egg 
chests,  just  delivered  from  a  railway  van.  Two 
firkins  and  a  chest  taken  from  the  cheesemonger's 
door  directly  after." 

"  Were  they  outside  the  shop,  sir  1 "  said  Pipley, 
rubbing  his  gloves  softly  together. 

"  Yes,  outside  at  Chedderby's.  The  fellows  must 
have  had  a  cart.  I'll  put  on  a  couple  of  plain- 
clothes men,  for  this  sort  of  thing  must  be 
stopped.     The  colonel  will  be  furious." 

"  They're  sharp  uns,  and  no  mistake,"  said  John 
Pipley,  with  a  peculiar  look  of  his  eye  ;  and  then, 
being  dismissed,  he  slowly  returned  to  his  lodgings, 
grinding  his  teeth,  doubling  his  fists,  and  biting- 
a  bit  of  straw  into  the  smallest  possible  fragments. 

"  It  won't  do  to  say  how  I've  been  sold,"  he 
muttered  at  last,  as  he  sat  down  to  the  tea-table  ; 
"  for  I  have  been  sold,  and  no  mistake.  Looked 
as  innocent  as  a  lamb,  he  did  ;  and  me  not  to  see 
as  he  was  the  lamb  of  black  sheep.  And  me,  after 
eight  years  in  the  Force,  not  to  have  the  gumptioa 
to  take  a  note  of  the  name  upon  the  cart  '■  " 


'THE3   BKIDE  HATH   PACED   INTO   THE    HALL."     (Urauinby  M.  L.  Gow.) 

"  THE  AXCIENT  MAlilNER"  (p.  185) 


THE   RIME   OF   THE   ANCIENT   MARINER. 


1S5 


THE     EIME     OF     THE     ANCIENT     MARINEE. 

[By  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge.] 


The  Wedding-guest  sat  on  a  stone  : 
He  cannot  choose  but  hear ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner. 

The  ship  was  cheered,  the  harbour  cleared,. 

Merrily  did  we  drop 

Below  the  kirk,  below  the  hill. 

Below  the  lighthouse  top. 

The  sun  came  up  upon  the  left, 
Out  of  the  sea  came  he  ! 
And  he  shone  bright,  and  on  the  right 
Went  down  into  the  sea. 

Higher  and  higher  every  day. 

Till  over  the  mast  at  noon — 

The  Wedding-guest  here  beat  his  breast. 

For  he  heard  the  loud  bassoon. 

The  bride  hath  paced  into  the  hall. 
Red  as  a  rose  is  she  : 
Nodding  their  heads  before  her  goes 
The  merry  minstrelsy. 

The  Wedding-guest  he  beat  his  breast. 
Yet  he  cannot  choose  but  hear  ; 
And  thus  spake  on  that  ancient  man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner. 

And  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  he 
Was  tyrannous  and  strong  : 
He  struck  with  his  o'ertaking  wings. 
And  chased  us  south  along. 

With  sloping  masts  and  dipping  prow, 
As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 
Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe. 
And  foi-ward  bends  his  head. 
The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roared  the  blast. 
And  southward  aye  we  fled. 

And  now  there  came  both  mist  and  snow. 
And  it  grew  wondrous  cold  : 
And  ice,  mast-high,  came  floating  by. 
As  green  as  emerald. 

And  through  the  drifts,  the  snowy  clifts 
Did  send  a  dismal  sheen  : 
Nor  shapes  of  men,  nor  beasts  we  ken— 
The  ice  was  all  between. 


'  He   STOPPEIH  ONE  OP  THEEE.' 


PART    I. 


3T(,  T  is  an  ancient  Mariner, 

Ir-A 


Jli'  And  he  stoppeth  one  of  three. 

"  By  thy  long  gray  beard  and  glittering  eye. 
Now  wherefore  stopp'st  thou  me  1 

"  The  bridegi'oom's  doors  are  opened  wide, 
And  I  am  next  of  kin  ; 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set : 
May'st  hear  the  merry  din." 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand, 

"  There  was  a  ship,"  quoth  he. 

"  Hold  off !  unhand  me,  gray-beard  loon  !  " 

Eftsoons  his  hand  dropt  he. 

He  holds  him  with  his  glittering  eye — 
The  Wedding-guest  stood  still, 
And  listens  like  a  three  years'  child  : 
The  Mariner  hath  his  wilL 


186 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


The  ice  was  here,  the  ice  was  there, 

The  ice  was  all  around  : 

It  cracked  and  growled,  and  roared  and  howled, 

Like  noises  in  a  swound  ! 

At  length  did  cross  an  Albatross, 
Thorough  the  fog  it  came  ; 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul, 
We  hailed  it  in  God's  name. 

It  ate  the  food  it  ne'er  had  eat, 
And  round  and  round  it  flew. 
The  ice  did  split  with  a  thunder-fit ; 
The  helmsman  steered  us  through ! 

And  a  good  south  wind  sprung  up  behind  ; 
The  Albatross  did  follow, 
And  every  day,  for  food  or  play, 
■Came  to  the  mariner's  hollo ! 

In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud. 

It  perched  for  vespers  nine ; 

Whiles  all  the  night,  through  fog-smoke  white, 

-Glimmered  the  white  moonshine. 

*'  God  save  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 
From  the  fiends  that  plague  thee  thus  ! — 
Why  look'st  thou  so  ? " — With  my  cross-bow 
I  shot  the  Albatross. 

PART  II. 

The  sun  now  rose  upon  the  right  : 

Out  of  the  sea  came  he, 

•Still  hid  in  mist,  and  on  the  left 

Went  down  into  the  sea. 

And  the  good  south  wind  still  blew  behind, 
But  no  sweet  bird  did  follow, 
Nor  any  day  for  food  or  play 
■Came  to  the  mariner's  hollo  ! 

And  I  had  done  a  hellish  thing. 

And  it  would  work  'em  woe  : 

For  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow. 

Ah  wretch  !  said  they,  the  bird  to  slay, 

That  made  the  breeze  to  blow ! 

IN'or  dim,  nor  red,  like  God's  own  head. 

The  glorious  sun  uprist  : 

Then  all  averred  I  had  killed  the  bird 

That  brought  the  fog  and  mist. 

Twas  right,  said  they,  such  birds  to  slay. 

That  bring  the  fog  and  mist. 

The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  flew, 

The  furrow  followed  free  ; 

We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 

Into  that  silent  sea. 


Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropt  down, 
'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea ! 

All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 
The  bloody  sun,  at  noon, 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand. 
No  bigger  than  the  moon. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day. 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion  : 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

Water,  water,  everywhere, 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink  ; 
Water,  water,  everywhere. 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

The  very  deep  did  rot  :  O  Christ ! 
That  ever  this  should  be ! 
Yea,  slimy  things  did  crawl  with  legs 
Upon  the  slimy  sea. 

About,  about,  in  reel  and  rout 
The  death-fires  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils. 
Burnt  green,  and  blue,  and  white. 

And  some  in  dreams  assured  were 
Of  the  spirit  that  plagued  us  so ; 
Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  followed  us 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 

And  every  tongue,  through  utter  drought, 
Was  withered  at  the  root ; 
We  could  not  speak,  no  more  than  if 
We  had  been  choked  with  soot. 

Ah  !  well-a-day  !  what  evil  looks 
Had  I  from  old  and  yQUng  ! 
Instead  of  the  cross,  thfe  Albatross 
About  my  neck  was  hung. 

PART   III. 

There  passed  a  weary  time.     Each  throat 

Was  parched,  and  glazed  each  eye. 

A  weary  time !  a  weary  time  ! 

How  glazed  each  weary  eye, 

When  looking  westward,  I  beheld 

A  something  in  the  sky. 

At  first  it  seemed  a  little  speck. 
And  then  it  seemed  a  mist ; 
It  moved  and  moved,  and  took  at  last 
A  certain  shape,  I  wist. 


THE   RIME   OF   THE   ANCIENT   MARINER. 


18r 


A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist ! 
And  still  it  neared  and  neared  : 
As  if  it  dodged  a  water-sprite, 
It  plunged,  and  tacked,  and  veered. 

"With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked. 

We  could  nor  laugh  nor  wail ; 

Through  utter  drought  all  dumb  we  stood  ; 

I  bit  my  arm,  I  sucked  the  blood, 

And  cried,  A  sail !  A  sail ! 


When  that  strange  shape  drove  suddenly 
Betwixt  us  and  the  sun. 

And  straight  the  sim  was  flecked  with  bars, 
(Heaven's  Mother  send  us  grace  !) 
As  if  through  a  dungeon-grate  he  peered 
With  broad  and  burning  face. 

Alas  !  (thought  I,  and  my  heart  beat  loud) 
How  fast  she  nears  and  nears  ! 


'  A  S  VIL  '     A  SAIL  • " 
(From  the  Design  by  Sir  Noel  Paton,  R.S.A.    By  permiss'on  of  the  Art  Union  of  London.) 


With  throats  unslaked,  with  black  lips  baked, 
Agape  they  heard  me  call  : 
Gramercy !  they  for  joy  did  grin, 
And  all  at  once  their  breath  drew  in. 
As  they  were  drinking  all. 

See !  see  !    (I  cried)  she  tacks  no  more  ! 
Hither  to  work  us  weal ; 
Without  a  breeze,  without  a  tide, 
She  steadies  with  upright  keel ! 

The  western  wave  was  all  aflame, 
The  day  was  well-nigh  done  ! 
Almost  upon  the  western  wave 
Rested  the  broad  bright  sun  ; 


Are  those  her  sails  that  glance  in  the  sun, 
Like  restless  gossameres  1 

Are  thos6  her  ribs  through  which  the  sun 
Did  peer,  as  through  a  grate  1 
And  is  that  Woman  all  her  crew  1 
Is  that  a  death  1   and  are  there  two  1 
Is  Death  that  woman's  mate  1 

Her  lips  were  red,  her  looks  were  free, 
Her  locks  were  yellow  as  gold  : 
Her  skin  was  as  white  as  leprosy, 
The  night-mare  Life-in-Death  was  she, 
Who  thicks  man's  blood  with  cold. 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"The  self-same  moment  I  could  prat." 
(From  the  Design  by  Sir  Noel  Paton,  P,S..4.    By  permission  of  the  Art  Union  of  London.) 


The  naked  hulk  alongside  came, 

And  the  twain  were  casting  dice  ; 

^'  The  game  is  done  !   I've  won,  I've  won ! " 

Quoth  she,  and  whistles  thrice. 

The  sun's  rim  dips  :  the  stars  rush  out : 
At  one  stride  comes  the  dark ; 
With  far-heard  whisper,  o'er  the  sea, 
Off  shot  the  spectre-bark. 

We  listened,  and  looked  sideways  up ! 
Fear  at  my  heart,  as  at  a  cup. 
My  life-blood  seemed  to  sip. 
The  stars  were  dim,  and  thick  the  night, 
The  steersman's  face  by  his  lamp  gleamed  white , 
From  the  sails  the  dew  did  drip- 
Till  clomb  above  the  eastern  bar 
The  horned  moon,  with  one  bright  star 
Within  the  nether  tip. 

One  after  one,  by  the  star-dogged  moon, 
Too  quick  for  groan  or  sigh, 
Each  turned  his  face  with  a  ghastly  pang. 
And  cursed  me  with  his  eye. 

Four  times  fifty  living  men, 
{And  I  heard  nor  sigh  nor  groan) 


With  heavy  thump,  a  lifeless  lump, 
They  dropped  down  one  by  one. 

The  souls  did  from  their  bodies  fly, — 
They  fled  to  bliss  or  woe ! 
And  every  soul  it  passed  me  by. 
Like  the  whizz  of  my  cross-bow  ! 

PART    IV. 

"I  fear  thee,  ancient  Mariner  ! 

I  fear  thy  skinny  hand  ! 

And  thou  art  long,  and  lank,  and  brown, 

As  is  the  ribbed  sea-sand. 

"  I  fear  thee  and  thy  glittering  eye. 
And  thy  skinny  hand  so  brown." — 
Fear  not,  fear  not,  thou  Wedding-guest ! 
This  body  dropt  not  down. 

Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone, 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony. 

The  many  men,  so  beautiful ! 

And  they  all  dead  did  lie  : 

And  a  thousand  thousand  slimy  things 

Lived  on;  and  so  did  I. 


THE    RIME   OF   THE   ANCIENT   MARINER. 


189 


I  looked  upon  the  rotting  sea, 
And  drew  my  eyes  away  ; 
I  looked  upon  the  rotting  deck, 
And  there  the  dead  men  lay. 

I  looked  to  heaven,  and  tried  to  pray 
But  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gusht, 
A  wicked  whisper  came  and  made 
My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. 

I  closed  my  lids,  and  kept  them  close, 

And  the  balls  like  pulses  beat ; 

Por  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  sea  and  the 

sky, 
Lay  like  a  load  on  my  weary  eye, 
And  the  dead  were  at  my  feet. 

The  cold  sweat  melted  from  their  limbs, 
Nor  rot  nor  reek  did  they  : 
The  look  with  which  they  looked  on  me 
Had  never  passed  away, 

\.n  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  hell 

A  spirit  from  on  high ; 

But  oh  !  more  horrible  than  that 


Is  the  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye  ! 

Seven  days,  seven  nights,  I  saw  that  curse, 

And  yet  I  could  not  die. 

The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky, 
And  nowhere  did  abide  : 
Softly  she  was  going  up. 
And  a  star  or  two  beside — 

Her  beams  bemock'd  the  sultry  main 
Like  April  hoar-frost  spread  ; 
But  where  the  ship's  huge  shadow  lay, 
The  charmed  water  burnt  alway 
A  still  and  awful  red. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship, 

I  watched  the  water-snakes  : 

They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 

And  when  they  reared,  the  elfish  light 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watched  their  rich  attire  : 

Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black. 

They  coiled  and  swam  ;  and  every  track 

Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. 


"  The  skiff-boat  neared." 
{From  the  Design  by  Sir  Noel  Pafon,  U.S.A.    Bij  permission  of  the  Art  Union  of  T.ondo^.] 


190 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


0  happy  living  things  !  no  tongue 
Their  beauty  might  declare  : 

A  spring  of  love  gushed  from  my  heart, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware  ; 
Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware. 

The  selfsame  moment  I  could  pray ; 
And  from  my  neck  so  free 
The  Albatross  fell  oiF,  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. 

But  soon  I  heard  the  dash  of  oars, 

1  heard  the  Pilot's  cheer  ; 

My  head  was  turned  perforce  away, 
And  I  saw  a  boat  appear. 

The  Pilot  and  the  Pilot's  boy, 
I  heard  them  coming  fast  : 
Dear  Lord  in  Heaven !  it  was  a  joy 
The  dead  men  could  not  blast. 

I  saw  a  third — I  heard  his  voice  : 

It  is  the  Hermit  good  ! 

He  singe th  loud  his  godly  hymns 

That  he  makes  in  the  wood. 

He'll  shrieve  my  soul,  he'll  wash  away 

The  Albatross's  blood. 

PART   VTL 

This  Hermit  good  lives  in  that  wood 
Which  slopes  down  to  the  sea. 
How  loudly  his  sweet  voice  he  rears  ! 
He  loves  to  talk  with  marineres 
That  come  from  a  far  countree. 

He  kneels  at  morn,  and  noon,  and  eve- 
He  hath  a  cushion  plump  : 
It  is  the  moss  that  wholly  hides 
The  rotted  old  oak-stump. 

The  skiff- boat  neared  :  I  heard  them  talk — 
"  Why,  this  is  strange,  I  trow  ! 
Where  are  those  lights  so  many  and  fair. 
That  signal  made  but  now  1 " 

"  Strange,  by  my  faith  !  "  the  Hermit  said— 

"  And  they  answered  not  our  cheer  ! 

The  planks  looked  warped  !   and  see  those 

sails. 
How  thin  they  are,  and  sere  ! 
I  never  saw  aught  like  to  them. 
Unless  perchance  it  were 

"  Brown  skeletons  of  leaves  that  lag 
My  forest  brosk  along  ; 
When  the  ivy-tod  is  hesLvy  with  snow, 
And  the  owlet  whoops  to  the  wolf  below. 
That  eats  the  she-wolf's  young." 


"  Dear  Lord  !    it  hath  a  fiendish  look — 
(The  Pilot  made  reply) 
I  am  a-f  eared  " — "  Push  on,  push  on ! " 
Said  the  Hermit  cheerily. 

The  boat  came  closer  to  the  ship. 
But  I  nor  spake  nor  stirred  ; 
The  boat  came  close  beneath  the  ship. 
And  straight  a  sound  was  heard. 

Under  the  water  it  rumbled  on. 
Still  louder  and  more  dread  : 
It  reached  the  ship,  it  split  the  bay ; 
The  ship  went  down  like  lead. 

Stunned  by  that  loud  and  dreadful  sound, 

Which  sky  and  ocean  smote, 

Like  one  that  hath  been  seven  days  drownect 

My  body  lay  afloat ; 

But  swift  as  dreams,  myself  I  found 

Within  the  Pilot's  boat. 

Upon  the  whirl  where  sank  the  ship, 
The  boat  spun  round  and  round  ; 
And  all  was  still  save  that  the  hill 
Was  telling  of  the  sound. 

I  moved  my  lips — the  Pilot  shrieked 
And  fell  down  in  a  fit ; 
The  holy  Hermit  raised  his  eyes. 
And  prayed  where  he  did  sit. 

I  took  the  oars  ;  the  Pilot's  boy, 

Who  now  doth  crazy  go, 

Laughed  loud  and  long,  and  all  the  while- 

His  eyes  went  to  and  fro. 

"  Ha !  ha  !  "  quoth  he,  "  full  plain  I  &ee, 

The  Devil  knows  how  to  row." 

And  now,  all  in  my  own  countree, 

I  stood  on  the  firm  land ! 

The  Hermit  stepped  forth  from  the  boat. 

And  scarcely  he  could  stand. 

"  O  shrieve  me,  shrieve  me,  holy  man  !  " 
The  Hermit  crossed  his  brow. 
"  Say  quick,"  quoth  he,  "  I  bid  thee  say — 
What  manner  of  man  art  thou  ? ' 

Forthwith  this  frame  of  mine  was  wrenched^ 

With  a  woful  agony. 

Which  forced  me  to  begin  my  tale ; 

And  then  it  left  me  free. 

Since  then,  at  an  uncertain  hour, 
That  agony  returns  : 
And  till  my  ghastly  tale  is  toid, 
This  heart  within  me  burns. 


THE   DILEMMA   OF   PHADRIG. 


191 


I  pass,  like  Night,  from  land  to  land  ; 
I  have  strange  power  of  speech  ; 
That  moment  that  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me  : 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 

What  loud  uproar  bursts  from  that  door ! 
The  wedding-guests  are  there  : 
But  in  the  garden  bower  the  bride 
And  bride-maids  singing  are  : 
And  hark  the  little  vesper  bell, 
Which  biddeth  me  to  prayer  ! 

O  Wedding-guest !  this  soul  hath  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  : 
So  lonely  'twas,  that  God  himseK 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be. 

•O  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast, 
'Tis  sweeter  far  to  me, 
To  walk  together  to  the  kirk 
With  a  goodly  company  ! — 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 
And  all  together  pray. 


While  each  to  his  great  Father  bends, 
Old  men,  and  babes,  and  loving  friends, 
And  youths  and  maidens  gay. 

Farewell,  farewell !  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  Wedding-guest ! 
He  prayeth  well,  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us. 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 

The  Mariner,  whose  eye  is  bright. 
Whose  beard  with  age  is  hoar, 
Is  gone  :  and  now  the  Wedding-guest 
Turned  from  the  bridegroom's  door. 

He  went  like  one  that  hath  been  stunned, 
And  is  of  sense  forlorn  : 
A  sadder  and  a  wiser  man, 
He  rose  the  morrow  mom. 


THE    DILEMMA    OF    PHADRIG. 

[By  GERi-LD  Griffin.] 


HERE'S  no  use  in  talken  about  it,  Phad- 
rig.    I  know  an  I  feel  that  all's  over  wit 
me.     My  pains  are  all  gone,  to  be  sure 
— but  in  place  o'  that,  there's  a  weight 
like  a  quern  stone  down  upon  my  heart,  an 
I  feel  it  blackenen  within  me.    All  I  have 
to  say  is — think  o'  your  own  Mauria  when 
■she's  gone,  and  be  kind  to  poor  Patcy." 

"  Ah,  darlen,  don't  talk  that  way — there's  hopes 
yet — what'll  I  do — what'll  the  child  do  witout 
you  1  "— 

"Phadrig,  there's  noan.  I'm  goen  fast,  an  if 
you  have  any  regard  for  me,  you  wont  say 
anythin  that'll  bring  the  thoughts  o'  you  an  him 
between  me  an  the  thoughts  o'  heaven,  for 
that's  what  I  must  think  of  now.     An  if  you 

marry  again " 

"  Oh,  Mauria,  honey,  will  you  kill  me  entirely  1 
Is  it  I'll  marry  again  1 " 

"  If  it  be  a  thing  you  should  marry  again," 

Mauria  resumed,  without  taking  any  notice  of  her 
husband's  interruption,  "  you'll  bear  in  mind,  that 
the  best  mother  that  ever  walked  the  ground  will 
love  her  own  above  another's.  It  stands  with 
raisin  an  natur.  The  gander  abroad  will  pull  a 
strange  goslen  out  of  his  own  flock ;  and  you 
-know  yourself,  we  could  never  get  the   bracket 


hen  to  sit  upon  Nelly  O'Leary's  chickens,  do  what 
we  could.  Everything  loves  its  own.  Then, 
Phadrig,  if  you  see  the  floury  potaties — an  the  top 
o'  the  milk — an  the  warm  seat  be  the  hob — an  the 
biggest  bit  o'  meat  on  a  Sunday  goen  away  from 
Patcy — you'U  think  o'  your  poor  INIauria,  an  do 
her  part  by  him  ;  just  quietly,  and  softly,  an 
without  blamen  the  woman — for  it  is  only  what's 
nait'rel,  and  what  many  a  stepmother  does  without 
thinking  o'  themselves.  An  above  all  things, 
Phadrig,  take  care  to  make  him  mind  his  books 
and  his  religion,  to  keep  out  o'  bad  company,  an 
study  his  readin-made-aisy,  and  that's  the  way 
he'll  be  a  blessing  an  a  comfort  to  you  in  your  old 
days,  as  I  once  thought  he  would  be  to  me  in 
mine." 

Here  her  husband  renewed  his  promises  in  a 
tone  of  deep  affliction. 

"  An  now  for  yourself,  Phadrig.  Remember  the 
charge  that's  upon  you,  and  don't  be  goen  out 
venturen  your  life  in  a  little  canvas  canoe,  on  the 
bad  autumn  days,  at  Ballybunion  ;  nor  wit  foolish 
boys  at  the  Glin  and  Tarbert  fairs  ;— and  don't  be 
so  wake-minded  as  to  be  trusten  to  card-drawers, 
an  fairy  doctors,  an  the  like  ;  for  it's  the  last  word 
the  priest  said  to  me  was,  that  you  were  too 
superstitious,  an  that's  a  great  shame  an  a  heavy 


192 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS 


sin.  But  tee  you  !  *  Phadrig,  dear,  there's  that 
rogue  of  a  pig  at  the  potaties  over " 

Phadrig  turned  out  the  grunting  intruder,  bolted 
the  hurdle-door,  and  returned  to  the  bedside  of  his 
expiring  helpmate.  That  tidy  housekeeper,  how- 
ever, exhausted  by  the  exertion  which  she  had 
made  to  preserve,  from  the  mastication  of  the 
swinish  tusk,  the  fair  produce  of  her  husband's 
conacre  of  white  eyes,  had  fallen  back  on  the 
pillow  and  breathed  her  last. 

Great  was  the  grief  of  the  widowed  Phadrig  for 
her  loss — great  were  the  lamentations  of  her  female 
friends  at  the  evening  wake — and  great  was  the 


The  fair  Milly,  however,  did  not  appear  to  resent 
this  slight,  which  was  occasioned  (so  the  whisper 
went  among  the  guests)  by  the  fact,  that  she  had 
been  an  old  and  neglected  love  of  the  new  widower. 
All  the  fiery  ingredients  in  Milly's  constitution 
appeared  to  be  comprehended  in  her  glowing  ring- 
lets— arid  those,  report  says,  were  as  ardent  in  hue 
as  their  owner  was  calm  and  regulated  in  her 
temper.  It  would  be  a  cold  morning,  indeed,  that 
a  sight  of  Milly's  head  would  not  warm  you — 
and  a  hot  fit  of  anger  which  a  few  tones  of  her 
kind  and  wrath-disarming  voice  would  not  cooL 
She  dropped,  after  she  had  concluded  her  "  cry," 


The  Evenikq  Wake. 


jug  of  whisky-punch  which  the  mourners  imbibed 
at  the  mouth,  in  order  to  supply  the  loss  of  fluid 
which  was  expended  from  the  eyes.  According 
to  the  usual  cottage  etiquette,  the  mother  of  the 
deceased,  who  acted  as  mistress  of  the  ceremonies, 
occupied  a  capacious  hay-bottomed  chair  near  the 
fireplace — from  which  she  only  rose  when  courtesy 
called  on  her  to  join  each  of  her  female  acquain- 
tances as  they  arrived,  in  the  death- wail  which  (as 
in  politeness  bound),  they  poured  forth  over  the 
pale  piece  of  earth  that  lay  coffined  in  the  centre 
of  the  room.  This  mark  of  attention,  however,  the 
old  lady  was  observed  to  omit  with  regard  to  one 
of  the  fair  guests — a  round-faced,  middle-aged 
woman,  called  Milly  Rue — or  Red  Milly,  probably 
because  her  head  might  have  furnished  a  solution 
of  the  popular  conundrum,  "Why  is  a  red-haired 
lady  like  a  sentinel  on  his  post  1 " 

♦  To  you  !   Beware  ! 


a  conciliating  courtesy  to  the  sullen  old  lady,  took 
an  unobstrusive  seat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  talked 
of  the  "  notable "  qualities  of  the  deceased,  and 
was  particularly  attentive  to  the  flaxen-headed 
little  Patcy,  whom  she  held  in  her  lap  during  the 
the  whole  night,  cross-examining  him  in  his  reading 
and  multiplication,  and  presenting  him,  at  parting, 
in  token  of  her  satisfaction  at  his  proficiency,  with 
a  copy  of  The  Seven  Champions  of  Christendom, 
with  a  fine  marble  cover  and  pictures.  Milly 
acted  in  this  instance  under  the  advice  of  a  pru- 
dent mother,  who  exhorted  her,  "whenever  she 
thought  o'  maken  presents,  that  way,  not  to  be 
layen  her  money  out  in  cakes  or  gingerbread,  or 
things  that  would  be  ett  off  at  wanst,  an  no  more 
about  them  or  the  giver — but  to  give  a  strong  toy 
or  a  book,  or  somethen  that  would  last,  and  bring 
her  to  mind  now  and  then,  so  as  that  when  a  per- 
son 'ud  ask  where  they  got  that,  or  who  gev  it, 
they'd  say, '  from  Milly  Rue,'  or  'Milly  gev  it,  we're 


THE   DILEMMA   OF   PHADRIG. 


193 


obleest  to  her,'  an  be  talken  and  thinken  of  her 
when  she'd  be  away." 

To  curb  in  my  tale,  which  may  otherwise  become 
restive  and  unmanageable — Milly's  deop  affliction 
and  generous  sympathy  made  a  serious  impression 
on  the  mind  of  the  widower,  who  more  than  all 
was  touched  by  that  singularly  accidental  attach- 
ment which  she  seemed  to  have  conceived  for  little 
Patcy.  Nothing  could  be  farther  from  his  own 
wishes  than  any  design  of  a  second  time  changing 
his  condition  ;  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be  doing  a 
grievous  wrong  to  the  memory  of  his  first  wife  if 
he  neglected  this  opportunity  of   providing  her 


The  first  shock  which  burst  in  with  a  sudden 
violence  upon  their  happiness  was  one  of  a  direful 
nature.  Disease,  that  pale  and  hungry  fiend  who 
haunts  alike  the  abodes  of  wealth  and  of  penury, 
who  brushes  away  with  his  baleful  wing  the 
bloom  from  beauty's  cheek,  and  the  balm  of 
slumber  from  the  pillow  of  age  ;  who  troubles 
the  hope  of  the  young  mother  with  dreams 
of  ghastliness  and  gloom,  and  fears  that  come 
suddenly,  she  knows  not  why  nor  whence ; 
who  sheds  his  poisonous  dews  alike  on  the  heart 
that  is  buoyant  and  the  heart  that  is  broken  ; 
this  stern  and  conquering   demon   scorned    not 


"  Well,  an'  who  are  tou?" 


favourite  Patcy  with  a  protector,  so  well  calculated 
to  supply  her  place.  He  demurred  a  little  on  the 
score  of  true  love,  and  the  violence  which  he  was 
about  to  do  his  own  constant  heart — but  like  the 
bluff  King  Henry,  his  conscience,  "  aye  —  his 
conscience,"  touched  him,  and  the  issue  was, 
that  a  roaring  wedding  shook  the  walls  which 
liad  echoed  to  the  wail  of  death  Avithin  the 
few  jjreceding  months. 

Milly  Pue  not  only  supplied  the  place  of  a 
mother  to  young  Patcy,  but  presented  him  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years  with  two  merry  playfellows, 
a  brother  and  a  sister.  To  do  her  handsome 
justice,  too,  poor  Mauria's  anticipations  were 
completely  disproved  by  her  conduct,  and  it 
would  have  been  impossible  for  a  stranger  to 
have  detected  the  stepson  of  the  house  from 
any  shade  of  undue  partiality  in  the  mother. 
The  harmony  in  which  they  dwelt  was  unbroken 
by  any  accident  for  many  years. 

Y 


to  knock,  one  summer  morning,  at  the  door  of 
Phadrig's  cowhouse,  and  to  lay  his  iron  fingers 
upon  a  fine  milch-cow,  a  sheeted-stripper  which 
constituted  (to  use  his  own  emphatic  phrase)  the 
poor  farmer's  "  substance,"  and  to  which  he  might 
have  applied  the  well-known  lines  which  run 
nearly  as  follows  :  — 

"  She's  straight  in  her  back  and  thin  in  her  tail ; 
She's  fine  in  her  horn,  and  good  at  the  pail ; 
She's  calm  in  her  eyes,  and  soft  in  her  skin ; 
She's  a  grazier's  without,  and  a  butcher's  within." 

All  the  "cures"  in  the  pharmacopoeia  of  the 
village  apothecary  were  expended  on  the  poor 
animal,  without  any  beneficial  effect ;  and  Phadrig 
after  many  conscientious  qualms  about  the  dying 
words  of  his  first  wife,  resolved  to  have  recourse 
to  that  infallible  refuge  in  such  cases  — a  fairy 
doctor. 

He  said  nothing  to  the  afflicted  Milly  about  his 


19-t 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


iutention,  but  slipped  out  of  the  cottage  in  the 
afternoon,  hurried  to  the  Shannon  side  near 
Money-point,  unmoored  his  light  canvas-canoe, 
seated  himself  in  the  frail  vessel,  and  fixing  his 
paddles  on  the  toui-pin,  sped  away  over  the  calm 
face  of  the  waters  towards  the  isle  of  Scatterly, 
where  the  renowned  Crohoore-na-Oona,  or  Connor 
of-the-Sheep,  the  ]\Iohammed  of  the  cottagers,  at 
this  time  took  up  his  residence.  This  mysterious 
personage,  whose  prophecies  are  still  commented 
on  among  the  cottage  circles  with  looks  of  deep 
awe  and  wonder,  was  much  revered  by  his  con- 
temporaries as  a  man  "  who  had  seen  a  dale  ; "  of 
what  nature  those  sights  or  visions  were  was  in- 
timated by  a  mysterious  look  and  a  solemn  nod  of 
the  head. 

In  a  little  time  Phadrig  ran  his  little  canoe 
aground  on  the  sandy  beach  of  Scatterly,  and, 
drawing  -her  above  high-water  mark,  proceeded 
to  the  humble  dwelling  of  the  gifted  Sheep- 
shearer  with  feelings  of  profound  fear  and  anxiety. 
He  passed  the  lofty  round  tower  —  the  ruined 
grave  of  St.  Senanus,  in  the  centre  of  the  little  isle 
— the  mouldering  church,  on  which  the  eye  of  the 
poring  antiquary  may  still  discern  the  sculptured 
image  of  the  two-headed  monster,  with  which 
cottage  tradition  says  the  saint  sustained  so  fierce 
a  conflict  on  landing  on  the  islet — and  which  the 
ti-anslator  of  Odranus  has  vividly  described  as  "  a 
dragon,  with  his  fore-part  covered  with  huge 
bristles,  standing  on  end  like  those  of  a  boar  ;  and 
mouth  gaping  wide  open  with  a  double  row  of 
crooked  sharp  tusks,  and  wdth  such  openings  that 
his  entrails  might  be  seen  ;  his  back  like  a  round 
island,  full  of  scales  and  shells  ;  his  legs  short  and 
hairy,  with  such  steely  talons,  that  the  pebble- 
stones, as  he  ran  along  them,  sparkled— parching 
the  way  wherever  he  went,  and  making  the  sea 
boil  about  .him  where  he  dited — such  was  his 
excessive  fiery  heat-."  Phadrig's  knees"  shook 
beneath  him  when  Tie  remembered  this  awful 
description — and  thought  of  the  legends  of  Lough 
Dhoola,  on  the  summit  of  Mount  Gallon,  to  which 
the  hideous  animal  was  banished  by  the  saint,  to 
fast  on  a  trout  and  a  half  per  diem  to  the  end  of 
time ;  and  where,  to  this  day,  the  neighbouring 
fishermen  declare  that,  in  dragging  the  lake  with 
their  nets  they  find  the  half-trout  as  regularly 
divided  in  the  centre  as  if  it  were  done  with  a  knife 
and  scale. 

While  Phadrig  remained  with  mouth  and  eyes 
almost  as  wide  open  as  those  of  the  sculptured 
image  of  the  monster  which  had  fascinated  him 
to  the  spot,  a  sudden  crash  among  the  stones  and 
dock-weed,  in  an  opposite  corner  of  the  ruin, 
made  him  start  and  yell  as  if  the  original  were 
about  to  quit  Lough  Dhoola  on  parole  of  honour, 
and  use  him  as  a  relish  after  the  trout  and  a 
haK.     The  noise  was  occasioned  by  a  little  rotund 


personage,  who  had  sprung  from  the  mouldering 
wall,  and  now  stood  gazing  fixedly  on  the  terrified 
Phadrig,  who  continued  returning  that  steady 
glance  with  a  half-frightened,  half-crying  face — 
one  hand  fast  clenched  upon  his  breast,  and  the 
other  extended,  with  an  action  of  avoidance  and 
deprecation.  The  person  of  the  stranger  was  stout 
and  short,  rendered  still  more  so  by  a  stoop,  which 
might  almost  have  been  taken  for  a  hump — his 
arms  hung  forward  from  his  shoulders,  like  those  of 
a  long-armed  ape  —  his  hair  was  grey  and  bushy, 
like  that  of  a  wanderoo — and  his  sullen  grey  eye 
seemed  to  be  inflamed  with  ill-humour — his  feet 
were  bare  and  as  broad  as  a  camels  —  and  a 
leathern  girdle  buckling  round  his  waist,  secured  a 
tattered  grey  frieze  riding  coat,  and  held  an 
enormous  pair  of  shears,  which  might  have  clipped 
oft'  a  man's  head  as  readily  perhaps,  as  a  lock  of 
wool.  This  last  article  of  costume  afforded  a 
sufficient  indication  to  Phadrig  tliat  he  stood  in 
the  presence  of  the  awful  object  of  his  search. 

'•  Well !  an  who  are  you  1 "  growled  the  Sheep- 
shearer,  after  surveying  Phadrig  attentively  for 
some  moments. 

The  first  gruff  sound  of  his  voice  made  the  latter 
renew  his  start  and  roar  for  fright ;  after  which, 
composing  his  terrors  as  well  he  might,  he  replied, 
in  the  words  of  Autolycus — "I  am  only  a  poor 
fellow,  sir." 

"  Well !  an  what's  your  business  with  me  1 " 

"  A  cure,  sir,  I  wanted  for  her.  A  cow  o'  mine, 
that's  very  bad  inwardly,  an  we  can  do  nothen  for 
her  ;  an  I  thought  may  be  you'd  know  what  it  is 
ail'd  her — an  prevail  on  them  "  (this  word  was 
pronounced  with  an  emphasis  of  deep  meaning) 
"  to  leave  her  to  uz." 

"  Hush  !  "  the  Sheep-shearer  thundered  out,  in 
a  tone  that  made  poor  Phadrig  jump  six  feet  back- 
wards, with  a  fresh  yell,  "  do  you  daare  to  spake  of 
them  before  me.  Go  along  !  you  villyan  o'  the 
airth,  an  wait  for  me  outside  the  church,  an  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it  there  ;  but  first — do  you 
think  I  can  get  the  gentlemen  to  do  anything  for 
me  g^xttish  —  without  offeren  'em  a  trate  or  a 
haip'orth  1 " 

"  If  their  honours  wouldn't  think  two  tinpennies 
and  a  fi'penny  bit  too  little. — It's  all  I'm  worth  in 
the  wide  world." 

"  Well  !  we'll  see  what  they'll  say  to  it.  Give  it 
here  to  me.  Go  now — be  off  with  yourself — if 
you  don't  want  to  have  'em  all  a-top  o'  you  in  a 
minnit." 

This  last  hint  made  our  hero  scamper  over  the 
stones  like  a  startled  fawn ;  nor  did  he  think 
himself  safe  until  he  reached  the  spot  where  he 
had  left  his  canoe,  and  where  he  expected  the 
coming  of  the  Sheep-shearer  ;  conscience-struck 
by  the  breach  of  his  promise  to  the  dying 
Mauria,    and   in    a    state    of    agonising    anxiety 


THE   DILEMMA   OF   PHADRIG. 


195 


witli  respect  to  the  lowing  patient  in  the  cow- 
house. 

He  was  soon  after  rejoined  by  Connor-of-the 
Sheep. 

"  There  is  one  way,"  said  he, "  of  saving  your  cow 
— but  you  must  lose  one  of  your  childer  if  you 
wish  to  save  it." 

"  Oh  Heaven  presarve  uz,  sir,  how  is  that,  if  you 
plasel" 

"You  must  go  home,"  said  the  Sheep-shearer, 
"  an  say  nothen  to  any  body,  but  fix  in  your  mind 
which  o'  your  three  cliilder  you'll  give  for  the  cow  ; 
an  when  you  do  that,  look  in  his  eyes,  an  he'll 
sneeze,  an  don't  you  bless  him,  for  the  world. 
Then  look  in  his  eyes  again,  an  he'll  sneeze  again, 
an  still  don't  think  o'  blessen  him,  be  any  mains. 
The  third  time  you'll  look  in  his  eyes  he'll  sneeze 
a  third  time  —  an  if  you  don't  bless  him  the 
third  time,  he'll  die — but  your  cow  will  live." 

"  An  this  is  the  only  cure  you  have  to  gi'  me  1 " 
exclaimed  Phadrig,  his  indignation  at  the  moment 
overcoming  his  natural  timidity. 

"  The  only  cure. — It  was  by  a  dale  to  do  I 
could  prevail  on  them  to  let  you  make  the  choice 
itself." 

Phadrig  declared  stoutly  against  this  decree,  and 
even  threw  out  some  hints  that  he  would  try 
whether  or  no  Shaun  Lauther  or  Strong  John,  a 
young  rival  of  the  sheep-shearing  fairy  doctor, 
might  be  able  to  make  a  better  bargain  for  him 
with  the  "gentlemen." 

"Shaun  Lauther!"  exclaimed  Connor -of- the- 
Sheep,  in  high  anger — "  Do  you  compare  me  to  a 
man  that  never  seen  any  more  than  yourself  1 — 
that  never  saw  so  much  as  the  skirt  of  a  dead 
man's  shroud  in  the  moonlight — or  heard  as  much 
as  the  moanen  of  a  sowlth  in  an  old  graveyard  1 
Do  you  knoAv  me  ?— Ask  them  that  do — an  they'll 
tell  you  how  often  I'm  called  up  in  the  night,  and 
kep  posten  over  bog  an  mountain,  till  I'm  ready 
to  drop  down  with  the  sleep — while  few  voices  are 
heard,  I'll  be  bail,  at  Shaun  Lauther's  windey 
— an  little  knoUidge  given  him  in  his  drames.  It 
is  then  that  I  get  mine.  Didn't  I  say  before  the 
King  o'  France  was  beheaded  that  a  blow  would 
be  struck  with  an  axe  in  that  place,  that  the 
sound  of  it  would  be  heard  all  over  Europe  1 — An 
wasn't  it  true  1  Didn't  I  hear  the  shots  that 
were  fired  at  Gibaralthur,  an  tell  it  over  in  Dooly's 
forge,  that  the  place  was  relieved  that  day  ? 
— an  didn't  the  news  come  afterwards  in  a 
month's  time,  that  I  toult  nothen  but  the 
truth  ? " 

Phadrig  had  nothing  to  say  in  answer  to  this 
overwhelming  list  of  interrogatories  —  but  to 
apologise  for  his  want  of  credulity,  and  to  express 
himself  perfectly  satisfied. 

With  a  heavy  heart  he  put  forth  in  his  canoe 
upon  the  water,  and  prepared  to  retiirn.     It  was 


already  twilight,  and  as  he  glided  along  the  peaceful 
shores,  he  ruminated  mournfully  within  his 
mind  on  the  course  which  he  should  pursue.  The 
loss  of  the  cow  would  be,  he  considered,  almost 
equivalent  to  total  ruin — and  the  loss  of  any  one 
of  his  lovely  children  was  a  probability  which  he 
could  hardly  bear  to  dwell  on  for  a  moment. 
Still  it  behoved  him  to  weigh  the  matter  well. 
Which  of  them,  now  —  supposing  it  possible 
that  he  could  think  of  sacrificing  any — which  of 
them  would  he  select  for  the  purpose  1  The 
choice  was  a  hard  one.  There  was  little  ]\Iauria, 
a  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  little  girl — but  he  could 
not,  for  an  instant,  think  of  losing  her,  as  she 
happened  to  be  named  after  his  first  wife  ;  her 
brother,  little  Shamus,  was  the  least  useful  of  the 
three,  but  he  was  the  youngest — "  the  child  of  his 
old  age — a  little  one  !  "  his  heart  bled  at  the  idea  ; 
he  would  lose  the  cow,  and  the  pig  along  Avith  it, 
before  he  would  harm  a  hair  of  the  darling  infant's 
head.  He  thought  of  Patcy — and  he  shuddered, 
and  leaned  heavier  on  his  oars,  as  if  to  flee  away 
from  the  horrible  doubt  which  stole  into  his  heart 
with  that  name.  It  must  be  one  of  the  three,  or 
the  cow  was  lost  for  ever.  The  two  first-men- 
tioned he  certainly  would  not  lose — and  Patcy — 
again  he  bade  the  fiend  begone,  and  trembling  in 
every  limb,  made  the  canoe  speed  rapidly  over  the 
tide  in  the  direction  of  his  home. 

He  drew  the  little  vessel  ashore,  and  proceeded 
towards  his  cabin.  They  had  been  waiting 
supper  for  him,  and  he  learned  with  renewed 
anxiety  that  the  object  of  his  solicitude,  the 
milch-cow,  had  rather  fallen  away  than  im- 
proved in  her  condition  during  his  absence. 
He  sat  down  in  sorrowful  silence  with  his  wife 
and  children,  to  their  humble  supper  of  potatoes 
and  thick  milk.    ^ 

He  gazed  intently  on  the  features  of  each  of  the 
young  innocents  as  they  took  their  places  on  the 
sugganv  chairs  that  flanked  the  board.  Little 
Mauria  and  her  brother  Shamus  looked  fresh, 
mirthful,  and  blooming,  from  their  noisy  play  in 
the  adjoining  paddock,  while  their  elder  brother, 
who  had  spent  the  day  at  school,  wore — or  seemed 
to  the  distempered  mind  of  his  father,  to  wear  a 
look  of  sullenness  and  chagrin.  He  was  thinner 
too  than  most  boys  of  his  age — a  circumstance 
which  Phadrig  had  never  remarked  before.  It 
might  be  the  first  indications  of  his  poor  mother's 
disease,  consumption,  that  were  beginning  to 
declare  themselves  in  his  constitution  ;  and  if  so, 
his  doom  was  already  sealed— and  whether  the  cow 
died  or  not,  Patcy  was  certain  to  be  lost.  Still  the 
father  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  resolve  on 
any  settled  course,  and  their  meal  proceeded  in 
silence. 

Suddenly  the  latch  of  the  door  was  lifted  by 
some  person  outside,  and  a  neighbour  entered  to 


196 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


inform  Phadrig  that  the  agent  to  his  landlord  had 
arrived  in  the  adjacent  village,  for  the  purpose 
of  driving  matters  to  extremity  against  all  those 
tenants  who  remained  in  arrear.  At  the  same 
moment,  too,  a  low  moan  of  anguish  from  the 
cow  outside  announced  the  a?cess  of  a  fresh 
paroxysm  of  her  distemper,  which  it  was  very 
evident  the  poor  animal  could  never  come  through 
in  safety. 

In  an  agony  of  distress  and  horror,  the  distracted 
father  laid  his  clenched  fingers  on  the  table,  and 
looked  fixedly  in  the  eyes  of  the  unsuspecting 
Patcy.  The  child  sneezed,  and  Phadrig  closed  his 
Ups  hard,  for  fear  a  blessing  might  escape  them. 
The  child  at  the  same  time,  he  observed,  looked 
paler  than  before. 

Fearful  lest  the  remorse  which  began  to  awake 
within  his  heart  might  oversway  liis  resolution, 
and  prevent  the  accomplishment  of  his  unnatural 
design,  he  looked  hurriedly,  a  second  time,  into 
the  eyes  of  the  little  victim.  Again  the  latter 
sneezed — and  again  the  father,  using  a  violent 
eff'ort,  restrained  the  blessing  which  was  struggling 
at  his  heart.  The  poor  child  drooped  his  head 
upon  his  bosom,  and  letting  the  untasted  food  fall 
from  his  hand,  looked  so  pale  and  mournful  as  to 
remind  his  murderer  of  the  look  which  his  mother 
wore  in  dying. 

It  was  long  —  very  long  —  before  the  heart- 
struck  parent  could  prevail  on  himself  to  complete 
the  sacrifice.  The  visitor  departed  ;  and  the  first 
beams  of  a  full  moon  began  to  supplant  the  faint 
and  lingering  twilight  which  was  fast  fading  in 
the  west.  The  dead  of  the  night  drew  on  before 
the  family  rose  from  their  silent  and  comfortless 


meal.  The  agonies  of  the  devoted  animal  now 
drew  rapidly  to  a  close,  and  Phadrig  still  remained 
tortured  by  remorse  on  the  one  hand,  and  by  selfish 
anxiety  on  the  other. 

A  sudden  sound  of  anguish  from  the  cow- 
house made  him  start  from  his  seat.  A  third 
time  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  those  of  his  child — a 
third  time  the  boy  sneezed — but  here  the  charm 
was  broken. 

Milly  Rue  looking  with  surprise  and  tenderness 
on  the  fainting  boy,  said, — ''  Why,  then.  Heaven 
bless  you,  child  ! — it  must  be  a  cold  you  caught, 
you're  sneezen  so  often." 

Immediately  the  cow  sent  forth  a  bellow  of  deep 
agony,  and  expii-ed ;  and  at  the  same  moment  a 
low  and  plaintive  voice  outside  the  door  was  heard 
exclaiming — "  And  Heaven  bless  you,  Milly  !  and 
the  Almighty  bless  you,  and  spare  you  a  long  time 
over  your  children  !  " 

Phadrig  staggered  back  against  the  wall — his 
blood  froze  in  his  veins — his  face  grew  white  as 
death — his  teeth  chattered — his  eyes  stared — his 
hair  moved  upon  his  brow,  and  the  chilling  damp 
of  terror  exuded  over  all  his  frame.  He  recog- 
nised the  voice  of  his  first  wife  ;  and  her  pale  cold 
eye  met  his  at  that  moment,  as  her  shade  flitted 
by  the  window  in  the  thin  moonlight,  and  darted 
on  him  a  glance  of  mournful  reproach.  He 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands,  and  sunk,  sense- 
less, into  a  chair  ; — while  the  afi'righted  Milly,  and 
Patcy,  who  at  once  assumed  his  glowing  health 
and  vigour,  hastened  to  his  assistance.  They  had 
all  heard  the  voice,  but  no  one  saw  the  shade  nor 
recognised  the  tone,  excepting  the  conscience- 
smitten  Phadrig. 


HEE  VE 

[By  Egbert 

^N  the  sea  and  at  the  Hogue,  sixteen  hundred 
ninety-two, 
Did  the  English  fight  the  French, — woe 
to  France ! 
And,  the  thirty-first  of  May,  helter-skelter  thro' 

the  blue. 
Like  a  crowd  of  frightened  porpoises  a  shoal  of 
sharks  pursue, 
Came  crowding  ship  on  ship  to  St.  Malo  on 
the  Ranee, 
With  the  English  fleet  in  view. 

IL 

Twas  the  squadron  that  escaped,  with  the  victor 
in  full  chase  ; 
First  and  foremost  of  the  drove,  in  his  great  ship, 
Damfreville ; 


EIEL. 

Browning.] 

Close  on  him  fled,  great  and  small, 
Twenty-two  good  ships  in  all, 
And  they  signalled  to  the  place 
"  Help  the  winners  of  a  race  ! 
"  Get  us  guidance,  give  us  harbour,  take  us  quick 

-  -or,  quicker  still, 
"  Here's  the  English  can  and  will ! " 

III. 
Then  the  pilots  of  the  place  put  out  brisk  and 
leapt  on  board  ; 
"  Why,  what  hope  or  chance  have  ships  like  these 
to  pass  1 "  laughed  they  : 
"  Rocks    to    starboard,  rocks    to    port,  all    the 

passage  scarred  and  scored, 
"  Shall  the  Formidable  here  with  her  twelve  and 
eighty  guns 


"SIES,    THEY   KNOW    I   SPEAK    THE   TRUTH!"     {Drawn  hy  J.  Nash.) 


'•  nEnr6  riel  "  (p.  iw). 


HERVE   RIEL. 


197 


"  Think  to  make  the  river-mouth  by  the  single 
narrow  way, 
■*'  Trust  to  enter  where  't  is  ticklish  for  a  craft  of 
twenty  tons, 
"  And  with  flow  at  full  beside  1 
"  Now,  't  is  slackest  ebb  of  tide. 
"  Reach  the  mooring  1  Rather  say, 
""  While  rock  stands  or  water  runs, 
"  Not  a  ship  will  leave  the  bay  !  " 

IV. 

Then  was  called  a  council  straight. 
Erief  and  bitter  the  debate  : 


— A  Captain  1    A  Lieutenant  ?    A  Mate  —  first, 
second,  third  1 
No  such  man  of  mark,  and  meet 
With  his  betters  to  compete  ! 
But  a  simple  Breton  sailor  pressed  by  Tourville 
for  the  fleet, 
A  poor  coasting  pilot  he,  Herv6  Riel  the  Croisickese. 

VI. 

And,  "  What  mockery  or  malice  have  we  here  1 " 
cries  Herve  Riel  : 
"  Are  you  mad,  you  Malouins  ?  Are  you  cowards, 
fools,  or  rogues  1 


St.  Mat,o. 


"  Here's  the  English  at  our  heels ;  would  you  have 

them  take  in  tow 
"All  that's  left  us  of  the  fleet,  linked  together 

stern  and  bow, 
*'  For  a  prize  to  Plymouth  Sound  ? 
"  Better  run  the  ships  aground  ! " 
(Ended  Damfreville  his  speech). 
*'  Not  a  minute  more  to  wait ! 
"  Let  the  Captains  all  and  each 
"  Shove  ashore,  then  blow  up,  burn  the  vessels  on 
the  beach  ! 
"  France  must  undergo  her  fate. 

V. 

"  Give  the  word  !  "     But  no  such  word 
Was  ever  spoke  or  heard  ; 

For  up  stood,  for  out  stepped,  for  in  struck  amid 
all  these 


"  Talk  to  me  of  rocks  and  shoals,  me  who  took  the 

soundings,  tell 
"  On  my  fingers  every  bank,  every  shallow,  every 
swell 
'"Twixt  the  offing  here  and  Greve   where  the 
river  disembogues  1 
"  Are  you  bought  by  English  gold  1    Is  it  love  the 
lying  's  for  1 
"  Morn  and  eve,  night  and  day, 
"  Have  I  piloted  your  bay, 
"Entered  free  and  anchored  fast  at  the  foot  of 
Solidor. 
"Burn  the  fleet  and  ruin  France?   That  were 
worse  than  fifty  Hogues  ! 
"Sirs,  they  know  I  speak  the   truth  !    Sirs, 
believe  me  there 's  a  way  ! 
"  Only  let  me  lead  the  line, 

"  Have  the  biggest  ship  to  steer, 


198 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  Get  this  Formidahle  clear, 
*'  Make  the  others  follow  mine, 
"  And  I  lead  them,  most  and  least,  by  a  passage  T 
know  well, 
"  Right  to  Solidor  past  Greve, 

"  And  there  lay  them  safe  and  sound  ; 
"  And  if  one  ship  misbehave, 
"  — Keel  so  much  as  grate  the  ground, 
"Why,  I've    nothing    but    my    life,— here's  my 
head  ! "  cries  Herv6  Rial. 

VII. 

Not  a  minute  more  to  wait. 

"  Steer  us  in,  then,  small  and  great ! 

"Take    the     helm,    lead    the    line,  save    the 
squadron  ! "  cries  its  chief. 
Captains,  give  the  sailor  place  ! 

He  is  admiral,  in  brief. 
Still  the  north  wind,  by  God's  grace  ! 
See  the  noble  fellow's  face 
As  the  big  ship,  with  a  bound, 
Clears  the  entry  like  a  hound. 
Keeps  the  passage  as  its  inch  of  way  were  the  wide 
sea's  profound  ! 

See,  safe  through  shoal  and  rock, 

How  they  follow  in  a  flock, 
Not  a  ship  that  misbehaves,  not  a  keel  that  grates 
the  ground. 

Not  a  spar  that  comes  to  grief  ! 
The  peril,  see,  is  past, 
All  are  harboured  to  the  last, 
And  just  as  Herv^  Riel  holloas  "Anchor!" — sure 

as  fate, 
L^p  the  English  come,  too  late ! 

VIII. 

So,  the  storm  subsides  to  calm. 
They  see  the  green  trees  wave 
On  the  heights  o'erlooking  Gr^ve. 
Hearts  that  bled  are  stanched  with  balm. 
"  Just  our  rapture  to  enhance, 

"  Let  the  English  rake  the  bay, 
"Gnash  their  teeth  and  glare  askance 

"  As  they  cannonade  away  ! 
"'Neath  rampired  Solidor  pleasant  riding  on  the 

Ranee  ! " 
Now  hope  succeeds  despair   on   each    Captain's 

countenance ! 
Out  burst  all  with  one  accord, 
"  This  is  Paradise  for  Hell ! 
"  Let  France,  let  France's  King, 
"  Thank  the  man  that  did  the  thing  ! " 
What  a  shout,  and  all  one  word, 
"Herv^Riel!" 


As  he  stepped  in  front  once  more. 

Not  a  symptom  of  surprise 

In  the  frank  blue  Breton  eyes, 
Just  the  same  man  as  before. 

IX. 

Then  said  Damfreville,  "  My  friend, 
"  I  must  speak  out  at  the  end, 

"  Though  I  find  the  speaking  hard. 
"  Praise  is  deeper  than  the  lips  : 
"  You  have  saved  the  King  his  ships, 

"  You  must  name  your  own  reward. 
"  'Faith,  our  sun  was  near  eclipse  ! 
"  Demand  whate'er  you  will, 
"  France  remains  your  debtor  still. 
"  Ask  to  heart's  content  and  have  !  or  my  name's 
not  Damfreville." 

X. 

Then  a  beam  of  fun  outbroke 
On  the  bearded  mouth  that  spoke. 
As  the  honest  heart  laughed  through 
Those  frank  eyes  of  Breton  blue  : 
"  Since  I  needs  must  say  my  say, 

"  Since  on  board  the  duty 's  done, 

"  And  from  ^lalo  Roads  to  Croisic  Point,  what 
is  it  but  a  run  ? — 
"  Since  't  is  ask  and  have,  I  may — 

"  Since  the  others  go  ashore— 
"  Come !    A  good  whole  holiday  ! 

"  Leave  to  go  and  see  my  wife,  whom  I  call  the 
Belle  Aurore  ! " 
That  he  asked  and  that  he  got,— nothing  more. 

XL 

Name  and  deed  alike  are  lost. 
Not  a  pillar  nor  a  post 

In  his  Croisic  keeps  alive  the  feat  as  it  befell ; 
Not  a  head  in  white  and  black 
On  a  single  fishing-smack. 

In  memory  of  the  man  but  for  whom  had  gone  to 
wrack 
All  that  France  saved  from  the  fight  whence 
England  bore  the  bell. 
Go  to  Paris  :  rank  on  rank 

Search  the  heroes  flung  pell-mell 
On  the  Louvre,  face  and  flank ! 
You  shall  look  long  enough  ere  you  come  to- 
Herv6  Riel. 
So,  for  better  and  for  worse, 
Herv6  Riel,  accept  my  verse  ! 
In  my  verse,  Herv6  Riel,  do  thou  once  more 
Save  the  squadron,  honour  France,  love  thy  wife 
the  BeUe  Aurore  ! 


A   LITERARY   DINNER. 


199 


A    LITEEAEY    DINNER. 

[From  "  The  Yellowplush.  Papers."    By  "W.  M.  Thackeray.] 


pjy  ,  WISH  the  public  was  as  sorry  to  part 
-  ■  with  me  as  I  am  with  the  public  ; 
becaws  I  fansy  reely  that  we've 
become  frends,  aud  feal  for  my 
part  a  becoming  grief  at  saying 
ajew. 

It's  imposbill  for  me  to  contin- 
yow,  however,  a-writin,  as  I  have 
done — violetting  the  rules  of  authography,  and 
trampling  upon  the  fust  princepills  of  English 
grammar.  When  I  began,  I  knew  no  better  : 
when  I'd  carrid  on  these  papers  a  little  further, 
and  grew  accustmd  to  writin,  I  began  to  smel  out 
somethink  quear  in  my  style.  Within  the  last  sex 
weaks  I  have  been  learning  to  spell  :  and  when  all 
the  world  was  rejoicing  at  the  festiwates  of  our 
youthful  Quean — when  all  i's  were  fixt  upon  her 
long  sweet  of  ambasdors  and  princes,  following 
the  splendid  carridge  of  Marshle  the  Duke  of 
Damlatiar,  and  blinking  at  the  pearls  and  dimince 
of  Prince  Oystereasy — Yellowplush  was  in  his 
loanly  pantry — his  eyes  were  fixt  upon  the  spell- 
ing-book— his  heart  was  bent  upon  mastring  the 
diffickleties  of  the  littery  professhn.  I  have  been, 
in  fact,  convertid. 

You  shall  hear  how.  Ours,  you  know,  is  a  Wig 
house  ;  and  ever  sins  his  third  son  has  got  a  place 
in  the  Treasury,  his  secnd  a  captingsy  in  the 
Guards,  his  fust  the  secretary  of  embasy  at  Pekin 
with  a  prospick  of  being  appinted  ambasdor  at 
Loo  Choo — ever  sins  master's  sons  have  reseaved 
these  attentions,  and  master  himself  has  had  the 
promise  of  a  pearitch,  he  has  been  the  most  reglar, 
<;onsistnt,  honrabble  Libbaral,  in  or  out  of  the 
Hoose  of  Commins. 

Well,  being  a  Whig,  it's  the  fashn,  as  you  know, 
to  reseave  littery  pipple  ;  and  accordingly,  at 
dinner,  tother  day,  whose  name  do  you  think  I 
had  to  hollar  out  on  the  fust  landing-place  about 
a  wick  ago?  After  several  dukes  and  markises 
had  been  enounced,  a  very  gentell  fly  drives  up  to 
our  doar,  and  out  steps  two  gentlemen.  One  was 
pail,  and  wor  spekticles,  a  wig,  and  a  white  neck- 
cloth. The  other  was  slim  with  a  hook  nose,  a 
pail  fase,  a  small  waist,  a  pare  of  falling  shoulders, 
a  tight  coat,  and  a  catarack  of  black  satting 
tumbling  out  of  his  busm,  and  falling  into  a  gilt 
velvet  weskit.  The  little  genlmn  settled  his  wigg 
and  pulled  out  his  ribbins ;  the  younger  one 
iiuflfed  the  dust  off  his  shoos,  looked  at  his  wiskers 
in  a  little  pockit-glass,  settled  his  crevatt;  and 
they  both  mounted  upstairs. 

"  What  name,  sir  1 "  says  I,  to  the  old  genlmn. 
"  Name  ! — a  !   now,  you  thief  o'  the  wurrld,' 


says  he,  "  do  you  pretind  nat  to  know  me  ?  Say 
it's  the  Cabinet  Cyclopa  —  no,  I  :nane  the 
Litheray  Chran — psha  ! — bluthanowns  ! — say  it's 
DocTHOR  DiocLESiAN  Larner — I  think  he'll 
know  me  now — ay,  Nid  1 "  But  the  genlmn  called 
Nid  was  at  the  botm  of  the  stare,  an  pretended  to 
be  very  busy  with  his  shoo-string.  So  the  little 
genlmn  went  upstares  alone. 

"  Doctor  Diolesius  Larner  ! "  says  I. 

"Doctor  Athanasius  Lardner  ! "  says  Greville 
Fitz-Roy,  our  secknd  footman,  on  the  fust  landing 
place. 

"  iBoctor  Ignatius  lopola  ! "  says  the  groom  of  the 
chambers,  who  pretends  to  be  a  schollar ;  and  in 
the  little  genlmn  went.  When  safely  housed,  the 
other  chap  came ;  and  when  I  asked  him  his 
name,  said  in  a  thick,  gobbling  kind  of  voice — 

"  Sawed  wadgeorgeearllittnbul  wig." 

"  Sir  whot  1 "  says  I,  quite  agast  at  the  name. 

"  Sawedwad — no,  I  mean  AlistawQ^wadL  Lyttn 
Bulwig." 

My  neas  trembled  under  me,  my  i's  fild  with 
tiers,  my  voize  shook,  as  I  past  up  the  venrabble 
name  to  the  other  footman,  and  saw  this  fust  of 
English  writers  go  up  to  the  drawing-room  ! 

It's  needless  to  mention  the  names  of  the  rest 
of  the  compny,  or  to  dixcribe  the  suckmstansies 
of  the  dinner.  Suffiz  to  say  that  the  two  littery 
genlmn  behaved  very  well,  and  seamed  to  have 
good  appytights  ;  igspecially  the  little  Irishman 
in  the  whig,  who  et,  drunk,  and  talked  as  much  as 
I  a  duzn.  He  told  how  he'd  been  presented  at 
cort  by  his  friend,  Mr.  Bulwig,  and  how  the  Quean 
had  received  em  both  with  a  dignity  undigscrib- 
able  ;  and  how  her  blessed  Majisty  asked  what  was 
the  bony  fidy  sale  of  the  Cabinet  Cyclopaedy,  and 
how  he  (Doctor  Larner)  told  her  that,  on  his  honner, 
it  was  under  ten  thowsnd. 

You  may  guess  that  the  Doctor,  when  he  made 
this  speach,  was  pretty  far  gone.  The  fact  is, 
that  whether  it  was  the  coronation,  or  the  good- 
ness of  the  wine  (capittle  it  is  in  our  house,  /  can 
tell  you),  or  the  natral  propensaties  of  the  gests 
assembled,  which  made  them  so  igspecially  jolly, 
I  don't  know  ;  but  they  had  kep  up  the  meating 
pretty  late,  and  our  poar  butler  was  quite  tired 
with  the  perpechual  baskits  of  claret  which  he  had 
been  called  upon  to  bring  up.  So  that  about  1 1 
o'clock,  if  I  were  to  say  they  were  merry,  I  should 
use  a  mild  term  ;  if  I  were  to  say  they  were  intaw- 
sicated  I  should  use  an  igspresshn  more  near  to  the 
truth,  but  less  rispeckful  in  one  of  my  situashn. 

The  cumpany  reseaved  this  annountsmint  with 
mute  astonishment. 


200 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPJLAR  AUTHORS. 


"  Pray,  Doctor  Larnder,"  says  a  spiteful  genlmn, 
willing  to  keep  up  the  littery  conversation,  "  what 
is  the  Cabinet  Cyclopaedia  ] " 

"It's  the  littherary  wontherr  of  the  wurrld," 
says  he  ;  "  and  sure  your  lordship  must  have  seen 
it ;  the  latther  numbers  ispecially — cheap  as  durrt, 
bound  in  gleezed  calico,  six  shillings  a  vollum. 
The  illusthrious  neems  of  Walther  Scott,  T'.iomas 
Moore,  Docthor  Southey,  Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
Docthor  Donovan,  and  meself,  are  to  be  found 
in  the  list  of  conthributors.  Its  the  Phaynix  of 
Cyclopajies— a  litherary  Bacon." 

"A  what  V  says  the  genlm  nex  to  him. 


its  peaceful  sceptre — pewused  in  Amewica,  fwom 
New  York  to  Niagawa — wepwinted  in  Canada,, 
fwom  Montweal  to  Toronto — and,  as  I  am  gwati- 
fied  to  hear  fwom  my  fwiend  the  governor  of 
Cape  Coast  Castle,  wegularly  weceived  in  Afwica, 
and  twanslated  into  the  Mandigo  language  by  the 
missionawies  and  the  buswangers.  I  need  not  say, 
gentlemen  —  sir — that  is,  Mr.  Speaker — I  mean, 
Sir  John — that  I  allude  to  the  Litewawy  Chwonicle 
of  which  I  have  the  honour  to  be  pwiucipal  contwi- 
butor." 

"  Very  true,  my  dear  Mr.  Bullwig,"  says  my 
master  :  "  you  and  I,  being  Whigs,  must  of  course 


"  Mt  keas  tfembled  under  me."     {Drawn  by  W.  Ralston.) 


"  A  Bacon,  shining  in  the  darkness  of  our  age  ; 
fiJd  wid  the  pure  end  lambent  flame  of  science, 
burning  with  the  gorrgeous  scintillations  of  divine 
litherature — a  monumintum,  in  fact,  are  perinnius 
bound  in  pink  calico,  six  shillings  a  vollum." 

"This  wigmawole,"  said  Mr.  Bulwig  (who 
seemed  rather  disgusted  that  his  friend  should 
tak  up  so  much  of  the  convassation),  "  this 
wigmawole  is  all  vewy  well ;  but  it's  cuwious  that 
you  don't  wemember  in  chawactev/ising  the 
litewawy  mewits  of  the  vawious  magazines, 
cwonicles,  w^e  views,  and  encyclopaedias,  the 
existence  of  a  cwitical  weview  and  litewawy 
cwonicle  which,  though  the  agwa  of  its  appearance 
is  dated  only  at  a  vewy  few  months  pwevious  to 
the  pwesent  pewoid,  is  nevertheless  so  wemark- 
able  for  its  iutwinsic  mewits  as  to  be  wead,  not 
in  the  metwopolis  alone,  but  in  the  countwy— not 
in  Fwance  mearly,  but  in  the  west  of  Euwope — 
whewever  our  pure  Wenglish  is  spoken,  it  stwetchs 


stand  by  our  own  friends  ;  and  I  will  agree,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  that  the  Litera  what- 
d'ye-call'em  is  the  prince  of  periodicals." 

"  The  pwince  of  pewiodicals  1 "  says  Bullwig  •, 
"my  dear  Sir  John,  it's  the  empewow  of  the 
pwess." 

"  Soit — let  it  be  the  emperor  of  the  press,  as  you 
poetically  call  it ;  but,  between  ourselves,  confess 
it — Do  not  the  Tory  writers  beat  your  Whigs 
hollow  !  You  talk  about  magazines.   Look  at " 

"  Look  at  hwat  1 "  shouts  out  Larner.  ''  There's 
none.  Sir  Jan,  compared  to  ourrs." 

"  Pardon  me  I  think  that " 

"  It  is  '  Bentley's  Mislany'  you  mane  1 "  says 
Ignatius,  as  sharj)  as  a  nidle. 

"  Why,  no  ;  but " 

"  O  thin,  its  Co'burn,  sure ;  and  that  divvle 
Thayodor — a  pretty  paper,  sir,  but  light — thrashy^ 
milk-and-wathery — not  strong,  like  the  Litherary, 
Chran— good  luck  to  it." 


A   LITERARY    DINNER. 


201 


"Why,  Doctor  Larner,  I  was  going  to  tell  at 
oiice  the  name  of  the  periodical — it  is  Fkaser's 
Magazine." 

"Freser  !"  says  the  Doctor.  "  O  thunder  and 
turf ! " 

"  FwASER  ! "  says  Bullwig.  "  O— ah— hum- 
haw — yes — no — why — that  is,  weally — no,  weally, 
upon  my  weputation,  I  never  before  heard  the 
name  of  the  pewiodical.  By  the  by.  Sir  John, 
what  wemarkable  good  clawet  this  is  !  Is  it  Lawose 
or  Laff " 

Laff,  indeed  !  he  cooden  git  beyond  lafF ;  and 
I'm  blest  if  I  could  kip  it  neither — for  hearing 
him  pretend  ignurnts,    and    being    behind    the 


name  of  the  "Yellowplush  Correspondence"). 
"  Ha,  ha !  why,  to  tell  twuth,  I  have  wead  the 
cowespondence  to  which  you  allude  :  it's  a  gweat 
favowite  at  Court.  I  was  talking  with  Spwing 
Wice  and  John  Wussell  about  it  the  other  day." 

"  Well,  and  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  says  Sir 
John,  looking  mity  waggish — for  he  knew  it  was 
me  who  roat  it. 

"  Why,  weally  and  twuly,  there's  considewable 
cleaverness  about  the  cweature ;  but  it's  low, 
disgustingly  low  :  it  violates  pwobability,  and  the 
orthography  is  so  carefully  inaccuwate,  that  it 
requires  a  possitive  study  to  coinpwehend  it." 

"  Yes,  faith,"  says  Larner ;  "  the  arthagraphy  is. 


"Oh,"  said  bullwio,  clasping  his  hands."    {Drawnhxj  W.  Ealsfon.) 


skreend,  settlin  sumthink  for  the  genlmn,  I  bust 
into  such  a  raw  of  laffing  as  never  was  igseeded. 

"  Hullo  !  "  says  Bullwig,  turning  red.  "  Have  I 
said  anything  impwobable,  aw  widiculous  ]  for 
weally,  I  never  befaw  wecollect  to  have  heard  in 
society  such  a  twemendous  peal  of  cachinnation — 
that  which  the  twagic  bard  who  fought  at  Mawa- 
thon  has  called  an  anewithmon  gelasmaJ' 

"  Why,  be  the  holy  piper,"  says  Larder,  "  I  think 
you  are  dthrawing  a  little  on  your  imagination. 
Not  read  Fraser !  Don't  believe  him,   my  lord 
.,  duke  ;  he  reads  every  word  of  it,  the  rogue  !    The 
boys  about  that  magazine  baste  him  as  if  he  was  a 
.  sack  of  oatmale.     My  reason  for  crying  out.   Sir 
f  Jan,  was  because  you  mintioned   Fraser  at  all. 
Bullwig  has  every  syllable  of  it  by  heart — from  the 
paillitix  down  to  the  'Yellowplush    Correspon- 
dence.' " 

"  Ha,  ha  ! "  says  Bullwig,  affecting  to  laff  (you 
may  be  sure  my  ears  prickt  up  when  I  heard  the 


detestible;  it's  as  bad  for  a  man  to  write  bad 
spillin  as  it  is  for  em  to  speak  wid  a  brogue. 
Iducation  furst,  and  ganius  afterwards.  Your 
health,  my  lord,  and  good  luck  to  you." 

"  Yaw  wemark,"  says  Bullwig,  "  is  vewy  appwo- 
pwiate.  You  will  wecollect,  Sir  John,  in  Hewo- 
dotus  (as  for  you,  Doctor,  you  know  more  about 
I  wish  than  about  Gweek) — you  will  wecollect, 
without  doubt,  a  stowy  nawwated  by  that  cwedu- 
lous  though  fascinating  chwonicler,  of  a  certain 
kind  of  sheep  which  is  known  only  in  a  certain 
distwict  of  Awabia,  and  of  which  the  tail  is  so 
enormous,  that  it  either  dwaggles  on  the  gwound, 
or  is  bound  up  by  the  shepherds  of  the  country 
into  a  small  wheelbawwow,  or  cart,  which  makes 
the  chwonicler  sneewingly  wemark  that  thus  '  the 
sheep  of  Awabia  have  their  own  chawiots.'  I 
have  often  thought,  sir  (this  clawet  is  weally 
nectaweous)— I  have  often,  I  say,  thought  that 
the  wace  of  man    may  be  compawed  to  these 


202 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Awabian  sheep — genius  is  our  tail,  education  our 
-wlieelbawwaAv.  AVitliout  art  and  education  to 
pwop  it,  this  genius  dwops  on  the  gwound,  and  is 
l)olluted  by  the  mud,  or  injured  by  the  wocks 
upon  the  way :  with  the  wheelbawvvow  it  is 
strengthened,  incweased,  and  supported — a  pwide 
to  the  owner,  a  blessing  to  mankind." 

*'A  very  appropriate  simile,'  says  Sir  John  ; 
"and  I  am  afmid  that  the  genius  of  our  friend 
Yellowplush  has  need  of  some  such  support." 

"  Apropos,"  said  BuUwig,  "  who  is  Yellowplush  1 
I  was  given  to  luiderstand  that  the  name  was 
only  a  fictituous  one,  and  that  the  papers  were 
written  by  the  author  of  the  'Diary  of  a  Phy- 
sician ; '  if  so,  the  man.  has  wonderfully  improved 
in  style,  and  there  is  some  hope  of  him." 

"  Bah  i  "  said  the  Duke  of  Doublejowl ;  "  evrey 
body  knows  its  Baniard,  the  celebrated  author  of 
'Sam  Slick'" 

"Pardon,  my  dear  duke,'*  said  Lord  Bagwig; 
"it's  the  authoress  of  *  High  Life,'  *  Almack's,'  and 
other  fashionable  novels." 

"  Fiddlestick's  end  ! "  says  Doctor  Larner ;  "don't 
be  blushing  and  pretending  to  ask  questions :  don't 
we  know  you,  Bullwig  ?  It's  you  yourself,  you 
thief  of  the  world  :  we  smoked  you  from  the  very 
beginning." 

Bulhvig  was  about  indignantly  to  reply,  when 
Sir  John  interupted  them,  and  said — "  I  must 
correct  you  all,  gentlemen ;  Mr.  Yellowplush  is 
no  other  than  Mr.  Yellowplush  :  he  gave  you,  my 
dear  Bulwig,  your  last  glass  of  champagne  at 
dinner,  and  is  now  an  inmate  of  my  house,  and 
an  ornament  of  my  kitchen ! " 

"  Gad  ! "  says  Doublejowl,  "  let's  have  him  up." 

"  Hear,  hear ! "  says  Bagwig. 

"  Ah,  now,"  says  Lanier,  "  your  grace  is  not  going 
io  call  up  and  talk  to  a  footman,  sure  1  Is  it 
gintale  1 " 

"  To  say  the  least  of  it,"  says  Bullwig,  "  the 
pwactice  is  iwsvegular,  and  indecowous  ;  and  I 
weally  don't  see  how  the  interview  can  be  in  any 
Tvay  pwofitable." 

But  the  vices  of  the  company  went  against  the 
two  littery  men,  and  everybody  excep  them  was 
for  ha\ing  up  poor  me.  The  bell  was  wrung  ; 
butler  came.  "  Send  up  Charles,"  says  master  ; 
and  Charles,  who  was  standing  behind  the 
skreand,  was  persnly  abliged  to  come  in. 

"Charles,"  says  master,  "I  have  been  telling 
these  gentlemen  who  is  the  author  of  the  '  Yellow- 
plush Correspondence,'  in  Fraser's  Magazine." 

"It's  the  best  magazine  in  Europe,"  says  the 
duke. 

"  And  no  mistake,"  says  my  lord. 

"Hwhat!"  says  Larner;  "and  where's  the 
Litherary  Chran  ? " 

I  said  myself  nothing,  but  made  a  bough,  and 
blusht  like  pickle-cabbitch. 


"  Mr.  Yellowplush,"  says  his  grace,  "  will  you,  in 
the  first  place,  drink  a  glass  of  wine  %  " 

I  boughed  agin. 

"And  what  wine  do  you  prefer,  sir]  humble 
port  or  imperial  burgundy  1 " 

"  Why,  your  grace,"  says  I,  "  I  know  my  place, 
and  ain't  above  kitchen  wines.  I  will  take  a  glass 
of  port,  and  drink  it  to  the  health  of  this  honour- 
able company." 

When  I'd  swigged  off  the  bumper,  which  his 
grace  himself  did  me  the  honour  to  pour  out  for 
me,  there  was  a  silints  for  a  niinnit ;  when  my 
master  said — 

"  Charles  Yellowplush,  I  have  perused  your 
memoirs  in  Fraser's  Magazine  with  so  much 
curiosity,  and  have  so  high  an  opinion  of  your 
talents  as  a  writer,  that  I  really  cannot  keep  you 
as  a  footman  any  longer,  or  allow  you  to  discharge 
duties  for  which  you  are  now  quite  unfit.  With 
all  my  admiration  for  your  talents,  Mr.  Yellow- 
plush, I  still  am  confident  that  many  of  your 
friends  in  the  servants'  hall  will  clean  my  boots 
a  great  deal  better  than  a  gentleman  of  your 
genius  cau  ever  be  expected  to  do— it  is  for  this 
purpose  I  employ  footmeu,  and  not  that  they  may 
be  writing  in  magazines.  But — you  need  not  look 
so  red,  my  good  fellow,  and  had  better  take 
another  glass  of  port — I  don't  wish  to  throw  you 
upon  the  wide  world  without  the  means  of  a 
livelihood,  and  have  made  interest  for  a  little 
place  which  you  will  have  under  Government, 
and  which  will  give  you  an  income  of  eighty 
pounds  per  annum ;  which  you  can  double,  I 
presmue,  by  your  literary  labours." 

"  Sir,"  says  I,  clasping  my  hands,  and  busting 
into  tears,  "  do  not — for  heaven's  sake,  do  not  ! — 
think  of  any  such  think,  or  drive  me  from  your 
suwice,  because  I  have  been  fool  enough  to  write 
in  magaseens.  Glaus  but  one  moment  at  your 
honour's  plate — every  spoon  is  as  bright  as  a 
mirror ;  condysend  to  igsamine  your  shoes — your 
honour  may  see  retiected  in  them  the  fases  of 
every  one  in  the  company.  /  blacked  them 
shoes,  /  cleaned  that  there  plate.  If  occasionally 
I've  forgot  the  footman  in  the  litterary  man,  and 
committed  to  paper  my  remindicences  of  fashion- 
able life,  it  was  from  a  sincere  desire  to  do  good, 
and  promote  nollitch :  and  I  appeal  to  your 
honour — I  lay  my  hand  on  my  busm,  and  in  the 
fase  of  this  noble  company  beg  you  to  say.  When 
you  rung  your  bell,  who  came  to  you  fust  ]  When 
you  stopt  out  at  Brooke's  till  morning,  who  sat  up 
for  you?  When  you  was  ill,  who  forgot  the 
natral  dignities  of  his  station,  and  answered  the 
two-pair  belU  Oh,  Sir,"  says  I,  "I  know  what's 
what ;  don't  sent  me  away.  I  know  them  littery 
chaps,  and,  believe  me,  I'd  rather  be  a  footman. 
The  work's  not  so  hard,  the  pay  is  better,  the 
vittels  incompyrably  supearor.    I    have    but  to 


A   LITERARY   DINNER. 


203 


clean  my  things,  and  run  my  errints,  and  you  put 
clothes  on  my  back,  and  meat  in  my  mouth.  Sir ! 
Mr.  Bullwig,  an't  I  right]  shall  I  quit  7mj 
station  and  sink— that  is  to  say,  rise— to  yours  I " 

Bullwig  was  violently  aft'ected  ;  a  tear  stood  in 
his  glistening  i.  "Yellowplush,"  says  he,  seizing 
my  hand,  "  you  are  right.  Quit  not  your  present 
occupation  ;  black  boots,  clean  knives,  wear  plush, 
all  your  life,  but  don't  turn  literary  man.  Look 
at  me.  I  am  the  first  novelist  in  Europe.  I  have 
ranged  with  eagle  wing  over  the  wide  regions  of 
literature,  and  perched  on  every  eminence  in  its 
turn.  I  have  gazed  with  eagle  eyes  on  the  sun  of 
philosophy,  and  fathomed  the  mysterious  depths 
of  the  human  mind.  All  languages  are  familiar  to 
me,  all  thoughts  are  known  to  me,  all  men  under- 
stood by  me.  I  have  gathered  wisdom  from  the 
honeyed  lips  of  Plato,  as  we  wandered  in  the 
gardens  of  Acadames— wisdom,  too,  from  the 
mouth  of  Job  Johnson,  as  we  smoked  our  'baccy 
in  Seven  Dials.  Such  must  be  the  studies,  and 
such  is  the  mission,  in  this  world,  of  the  Poet- 
Philosopher.  But  the  knowledge  is  only  empti- 
ness ;  the  initiation  is  but  misery ;  the  initiated,  a 
man  shunned  and  bann'd  by  his  fellows.  Oh," 
said  Bullwig,  clasping  his  hands,  and  throwing 
his  fine  i's  up  to  the  chandelier,  "the  curse  of 
Pwometheus  descends  upon  his  wace.  Wath  and 
punishment  pursue  them  from  genewation  to 
genewation  !  Wo  to  genius,  the  heaven-sealer,  the 
fire-stealer  !  Wo  and  thrice  bitter  desolation  ! 
Earth  is  the  wock  on  which  Zeus,  wemorseless, 
stwetches  his  withing  victim— men,  the  vultures 
that  feed  and  fatten  on  him.  Ai,  Ai !  it  is  agony 
eternal — gwoaning  and  solitawy  despair !  And  you, 
Yellowplush,  would  penetwate  these  mystewies: 
you  would  waise  the  awful  veil,  and  stand  in  the 
twemendous  Pwesence.  Beware ;  as  you  value 
your  peace,  beware  !  Withdwaw,  wash  Neophyte  ! 
For  heaven's  sake — O  for  heaven's  sake  !— "  here 
he  looked  round  with  agony — "  give  me  a  glass  of 
bwandy-and-water,  for  this  clawet  is  begining  to 
disagwee  with  me." 

Bullwig  having  concluded  this  spitch,  very 
much  to  his  own  sattasfackshn,  looked  round  the 
compny  for  aplaws,  and  then  swigged  off  the  glass 
of  brandy-and-water,  giving  a  solium  sigh  as  he 
took  the  last  gulph  ;  and  then  Doctor  Ignatius, 
who  longed  for  a  chans,  and,  in  order  to  show 
his  independence,  began  flatly  contradicting  his 
friend,  addressed  me,  and  the  rest  of  the  genlmn 
present,  in  the  following  manner  : — 

"  Hark  ye,"  says  he,  "  my  gossoon,  doan't  be  led 
asthray  by  the  nonsinse  of  that  divil  of  a  Bullwig. 


He's  jillous  of  ye,  my  bhoy :  that's  the  rale 
undoubted  truth  ;  and  it's  only  to  keep  you  out  of 
litherary  life  that  he's  palavering  you  in  this  way. 
I'll  tell  you  what — Plush,  ye  blackguard — my 
honourable  frind  the  mimber  there  has  told  me  a 
hundred  times,  by  the  smallest  computation,  of 
his  intense  admiration  of  your  talents,  and  the 
wonderfid  sthir  they  were  making  in  the  world. 
He  can't  bear  a  rival.  He's  mad  with  envy, 
hatred,  oncharatableness.  Look  at  him.  Plushy 
and  look  at  me.  My  father  was  not  a  juke 
exactly,  nor  aven  a  niarkis,  and  see,  nevertheless, 
to  what  a  pitch  I  am  come.  I  spare  no  ixpinse  ; 
I'm  the  editor  of  a  couple  of  pariodicals  ;  I  dthriY(j 
about  in  me  carridge  ;  I  dine  wid  the  lords  of  the 
land ;  and  why — in  the  name  of  the  piper  that 
played  befor'e  Moses,  hwy]  Because  I'm  a 
litherary  man.  Because  I  know  how  to  play  my 
cards.  Because  I'm  Doctor  Lamer,  in  fact,  and 
mimber  of  every  society  in  and  out  of  Europe.  I 
might  have  remained  all  my  life  in  Thrinity 
Colledge,  and  never  made  such  an  incom  as  that 
offered  you  by  Sir  Jan ;  but  I  came  to  London — 
to  London,  my  boy,  and  now  see  !  Look  again  at 
me  friend  Bullwig.  He  is  a  gentleman,  to  be 
sure,  and  bad  luck  to  'im,  say  I ;  and  what  has 
been  the  result  of  his  litherary  labour  ]  I'll  tell 
you  what ;  and  I'll  tell  this  gintale  society,  by 
the  shade  of  Saint  Patrick,  they're  going  to  make 

him  A  BARINET." 

"  A  BARNET,  Doctor ! "  says  I ;  "you  don't  mean 
to  say  they're  going  to  make  him  a  barnet  !  And 
pray  what  for  1 " 

"  What  faw  1"  says  Bullwig.  "  Ask  the  histowy 
of  litwatuwe  what  faw?  Ask  Colburn,  ask 
Bentley,  ask  Saunders  and  Otley,  ask  the  great 
Bwitish  nation,  what  faw"?  On  the  thwone  of 
litewature  I  stand  unwivalled,  pwe-eminent ;  and 
the  Bwitish  government,  honowing  genius  in  me, 
compliments  the  Bwitish  nation  by  lifting  into  the 
bosom  of  the  heweditawy  nobility,  the  most  gifted 
member  of  the  democwacy."  (The  honrabble 
genlm  here  sunk  down  amidst  repeated  cheers.) 

"Sir  John,"  says  I,  "and  my  lord  duke,  the 
words  of  my  rivrint  frend  Ignatius  and  the 
remarks  of  the  honrabble  genlmn  who  has  just- 
sate  down,  have  made  me  change  the  detummina- 
tion  which  I  had  the  honour  of  igspressing  just 
now. 

"I  igsept  the  eighty  pound  a  year;  knowing 
that  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time  for  pursuing  my 
littery  career,  and  hoping  some  day  to  set  on  that 
same  bench  of  barranites,  which  is  deckarated  by 
the  presnts  of  my  honrabble  friend." 


••^^^^lm 


-<^ 


204 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


[By  EicHARD  Lovelace.! 


HEN  Love  with  unconfined  wings, 

Hovers  within  my  gates, 
And  my  divine  Althea  brings 

To  wliisper  at  the  grates  ; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair, 

And  fettered  to  her  eye, 
The  birds  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 


When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  .careless  heads  with  roses  crowned, 

Our  hearts  with  loyal  flames  ; 
When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 

When  healths  and  draughts  go  free- 
Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 

Know  no  such  liberty. 


When,  linnet-like,  confinM,  I 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty 

And  glories  of  my  King  ; 
When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be, 
Enlarged  winds,  that  curl  the  flood, 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make. 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage  : 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love 

And  in  my  soul  am  free. 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 


IN   WONDERLAND. 


205 


IN     WONDEELAND. 

IFrom  "Travel  and  Trout  in  the  Antipodes."     By  William  Sekioe  ] 


HE  most  wonderful  object  of  this  dis- 
trict we  found  to  be  at  a  place  bear- 
ing the  formidable  name  of  Whakare- 
werewa.  It  is  about  two  miles  and 
a  half  through  the  fern  from  Ohine- 
muto.  On  the  way  we  passed  a  large  pond 
in  continual  toil  and  trouble  from  hot 
ix  springs,  one  of  which  a  few  years  ago 
■developed  into  a  full-blown  geyser  forty  feet  high  ; 
after  remaining  on  view  for  a  short  time,  it 
suddenly  retired  from  active  business,  and  has 
never  appeared  since,  showing  that,  if  the  people 
on  this  part  of  the  earth  are  indolent,  the  forces 
beneath  their  feet  are  ever  restless,  and  that  sur- 
prising effects  may  be  by  them  at  any  moment 
created.  •  A  singular  country  indeed !  Here  was  a 
stream  clear  as  crystal  and  cold  as  a  glacier  ;  and 
within  a  narrow  radius  were  heaps  of  sulphur  and 
the  debris  of  other  eruptions,  mud  springs  quiver- 
ing day  and  night,  and  ground  perceptibly  hot  to 
the  foot.  We  were  riding  through  the  flowering 
ti-tree  and  fern,  and,  hearing  a  vigorous  bubbling 
amongst  the  undergrowth,  pulled  up  to  see  a 
fountain  of  black  boiling  unsavoury  mud  which 
had  but  a  short  time  since  added  itself  unbidden 
to  the  strange  sights  of  the  district.  Then  we 
rode  down  a  steep  bank  and  over  a  creek  which  is 
fed  by  innumerable  small  geysers  and  hot  springs, 
necessitating  the  utmost  precision  in  following  the 
footsteps  of  the  guide's  horse  if  we  would  emerge 
on  the  other  side  without  boiled  pasterns.  The 
line  of  the  river  was  marked  by  greater  or  lesser 
steam  jets  whose  pure  white  wreaths  curled  grace- 
fully amongst  the  feathery  ti-tree  and  hung 
lingering  about  its  starry  flowers. 

In  the  pumice  country  beyond,  the  gentleman 
who  conducted  us  to  the  place  lost  a  horse  a  year 
before,  in  a  manner  which  explains  emphatically  the 
nature  of  the  country.  He  was  riding  at  full  speed 
through  the  fern  ;  the  horse  went  into  a  hole,  and 
he  was  shot  yards  ahead.  Scrambling  to  his  feet 
and  rubbing  the  sparks  out  of  his  eyes,  he  found 
the  horse  gone.  There  was  the  newly-formed  abyss, 
but  no  trace  of  the  horse.  Next  day  he  came  with 
ropes,  and  was  lowered  down  into  a  subterra- 
nean cavern  sloping  obliquely  into  thick  darkness. 
Lower  and  lower  he  went,  till  his  friends  above 
came  to  the  end  of  the  tether,  and  then  they  drew 
him  to  bank  to  report  that  the  pit  seemed  to  be 
bottomless.  It  is  needless,  perhaps,  to  remark 
that  nothing  was  ever  heard  or  seen  of  the 
horse. 

*#*         ***** 
In  the  sweetly  cool  morning — cool  as  we  should 


reckon  coolness  in  England,  and  not  in  Sydney  or 
Brisbane — we  brushed  the  dew  from  the  fern  as  we 
followed  Kate  and  her  posse  of  boatmen  down 
the  steep  declivity  which  conducted  to  the  boat 
waiting  for  us  at  the  head  of  Lake  Tarawera. 
Some  day,  when  the  Maoris  are  more  yielding  to 
the  white  lessees,  there  will  no  doubt  be  an  hotel 
built  at  this  spot,  or  on  the  higher  banks  to  the 
right,  overlooking  the  blue  and  charming  lake. 
At  present  you  have  a  tiresome  walk  to  pay  as  the 
penalty  of  native  obstinacy.  But  they  are  giving 
way  by  degrees.  For  instance,  two  years  ago  the 
voyage  across  Lake  Tarawera  would  have  been 
performed  in  a  very  low  type  of  canoe,  a  mere  dug- 
out, in  which  you  were  generally  drenched  and 
always  cramped,  and  which,  when  it  came  on  to 
blow,  as  it  often  does  from  the  mountains,  would 
be  made  an  admirable  excuse  for  delay.  Now  we 
found  a  capital  whaleboat  ready  for  launching,  and 
there  Avere  two  other  craft  of  similar  capacity  in 
the  rude  sheds.  We  had  a  preliminary  squabble 
about  some  rowlocks,  for  the  use  of  which  we  were 
expected  by  another  set  of  boatmen — rivals  pre- 
sumably— to  pay  backsheesh.  We,  however,  were 
firm  as  adamant,  and  ultimately  got  afloat. 

The  shores  of  Tarawera  are  well  wooded,  and 
they  present  every  variety  of  picturesque  inden- 
tation, from  rocky  promontories  and  precipitous 
cliffs  to  tiny  coves  and  gentle  verdurous  promon- 
tories ;  some  portions  of  the  background  of  moun- 
tain were  almost  grand.  By  contrast  with  this 
larger  lake,  Eotomahana,  to  reach  which  we  sub- 
mitted to  le  landed  on  the  shoulders  of  our 
boatmen,  bore  out  the  first  impression  which  every 
traveller  records  :  that  of  an  insignificant  and  even 
dirty-looking  piece  of  water  —  some  have  even 
spoken  of  it  contemptuously  as  a  pond — in  which 
marine  vegetation  shelters  the  wild  fowl,  which 
the  natives  protect  as  strictly  as  an  English  squire 
his  partridges  and  pheasants.  It  is  true  the  lake 
as  a  lake  is  nothing.  Yet  there  is  a  peculiarity 
in  the  surroundings,  in  the  steam  clouds  revolving 
over  the  hill,  in  the  weird  colour  of  the  water 
itself,  and  in  the  bleak  low  ranges  of  the  outer 
view. 

Shoes  and  stockings  were  here  taken  off,  Kate 
having  while  in  the  boat  set  us  an  example,  and 
we  proceeded  without  loss  of  time  to  the  White 
Terraces.  The  sun  shone  upon  the  wonderful 
alabaster-like  steps  and  upon  the  cascades  pouring 
from  them,  and  put  a  million  diamonds  into  the 
small  basins  receiving  the  downfall  Always 
white  and  smooth,  in  waves  and  drifts  and  ripples 
as  if  there  had  been  a  mighty  overflow  of  liquid 


20G 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


alabaster  suddenly  congealed,  these  terraces  in- 
vited us  upward  to  the  summit,  where  vaporous 
hangings  were  being  agitated  by  their  inherent 
vitality,  and  dispersed  by  the  breeze,  only  to  give 
place  to  other  fleecy  forms.  Green  underwood  on 
either  side  brought  out  in  startling  contrast  the 
snow-white  material  of  the  fairy  terrace  and  the 
manifold  hues  of  its  dancing  waters.  Impercep- 
tibly, but  not  the  less  surely,  the  dripping  overflow 
from  above  is  daily  adding  its  incrustations  of 
silica.  The  favourite  theory  is  that  the  terraces 
were  originally  an  overflow  of  lava  from  an  extinct 
volcano,  and  that  the  mineral  properties  of  the 
water,  flowing  from  what  was  the  crater,  gradually 
covered  the  rough,  dingy  pumice  with  its  ermine- 
looking  folds  of  drapery.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
efiect  is  entrancing. 

The  front  of  the  terraces  is  roughly  semicircular, 
and  it  narrows  towards  the  top.  The  steps  vary 
in  height  and  width,  being  sometimes  inches  and 
sometimes  feet.  !Many  of  the  floors  are  hollowed 
out  like  shells,  and  at  the  time  of  our  visit  were 
fiUed  with  water  of  exquisite  blue  tints.  There 
were  grey— French  grey — shadings  on  the  perpen- 
dicular walls  of  the  steps,  and  very  surprising  was 
the  combination  of  white,  blue,  and  grey.  '  The 
delicacy  and  i)xarity  of  these  dazzling  terrace  stairs 
caused  us  to  walk  with  hushed  tread,  and  respect  the 
fretwork,  carvings,  fantastic  stalactite  designs,  and 
endless  patterns  wrought  by  the  drij^ping  water. 

At  the  summit  are  large  basins  of  hot  water. 
Visitors,  when  certain  winds  prevail,  are  not  able 
to  see  through  the  dense  curtains  of  steam.  We 
were  fortunate,  for  though,  as  the  boiling  went  on 
below,  occasional  clouds  obscured  us,  at  times  we 
had  glimpses  of  the  cerulean  glory  of  the  basins. 
The  caldron-in-chief  is  a  terrible  affair.  At  first 
the  ya\vning  pit  (it  is  about  forty  yards  across) 
was  filled  Avith  fiercely  moving  steam,  which 
buffeted  the  sides  and  escaped  with  a  rush.  Then, 
with  a  diabolical  roar  which  made  us  draw  back  in 
haste  from  the  coralline  edging,  the  veil  was  rent, 
and  for  a  few  moments  the  fury  of  this  demon 
kettle's  boiling  was  visible.  The  waters  surged  up- 
wards in  appalling  volume,  madly  charging  right 
and  left,  suddenly  with  vicious  foam  and  thunder 
upheaving  as  if  to  overwhelm  us,  and  then  as 
suddenly  sinking  out  of  sight  and  filling  the 
passages  and  caverns  with  dying  shrieks  and  sighs. 
Appropriately  to  the  letter,  a  dark  recess  in  the 
side  of  a  hill  is  called  the  Devil's  Hole,  and  here 
the  deafening  uproar  and  ferocious  turbulence 
were  again  seen.  Space  fails  me  to  include  in  this 
description  the  lesser  wonders  of  this  land  of 
mysterj^ — the  creamy  mud  pools  boiling,  writhing, 
spewing  in  awesome  fashion  ;  the  geyser  pools 
spouting  hot  water,  spitting  steam  jets,  or  emitting 
rumbling  complaints  not  pleasant  to  hear ;  the 
springs,  great  and  small,  gurgling  musically  like 


wine  from  the  flask's  throat,  or  bellowing  hoai'sely 
as  if  they  would  rend  the  solid  rocks  asunder. 

A  canoe  took  us  over  the  dingy  green  surface 
of  Rotomahana  to  the  Pink  Terraces,  so  called 
because  of  the  delicate  tint  assumed  by  the 
material  of  w^hich  they  are  formed.  The  pink, 
however,  is  not  universal ;  but  the  terraces  are 
softer  in  character,  calmer,  more  smiling,  less 
threatening  than  those  we  had  left.  The  steps  are 
broader,  the  hollows  deeper,  as  if  the  action  of  the 
mystic  hands  that  had  fashioned  them  had  moved 
gently,  rounding  the  marble  edges,  levelling  or 
more  boldly  scooping  the  marble-like  floors,  and 
hanging  the  artistic  folds  and  ornaments  with  more 
leisurely  grace. 

Towards  the  top  of  this  unique  pile  the  terraces 
become  deeyt  basins,  in  which  we  bathed,  beginning 
with  the  lowest  and  coldest,  and  ascending  to  the 
next  and  next,  which  increased  in  temperature 
until  thus  far  and  no  further  could  we  go.  There 
we  luxuriated,  sitting  upon  the  hard,  smooth  floor, 
the  water  covering  every  part  of  the  body  but  the 
head  and  the  fingers  which  held  the  cigarette.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  lake  the  great  white  terrace 
shone  magnificently,  its  head  still  environed  in 
whirling  clouds  of  steam.  Here  we  were  at  peace^ 
and  serene,  for  the  moment  Avishing  for  nothing 
else  in  the  wide  world.  The  bath  ended  at  last, 
and  we  retired  to  the  ti-tree  scrub  to  dress.  The 
moment  we  stepped  out  of  the  water  the  wind, 
which  was  in  reality  soft  and  soothing,  seemed,  by 
contrast  with  the  element  we  had  left,  chill  as 
charity,  and  we  then  began  to  wish — to  wish  for 
our  clothes. 

Instead  of  the  raging  caldron  of  the  White 
Terraces — suggesting  a  monster  shed  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  in  which  a  hundred  locomotives  were 
blowing  off'  steam  —  the  corresponding  reservoir 
here  was  placid  in  appearance,  though  woe  betide 
the  being  who  plunged  into  its  simmering  depths. 
It  was  a  circular  pool  with  water  so  translucid  that 
one  did  feel  tempted  to  step  into  it.  We  waited 
a  while  for  the  steam  to  be  wafted  away,  and  the 
revelation  was  of  marvellous  sapphtn-e,  set  in  pearl 
and  surrounded  by  an  outer  edge  of  canary -yellow. 
Lovelier  blue,  pearl,  and  amber  mortal  eye  never 
saw.  It  must  have  been  some  such  heavenly  vision 
of  colour  that  the  exile  on  the  Isle  of  Patmos 
beheld  when  he  looked  upon  the  foundation  walls, 
of  the  New  Jerusalem. 

In  the  canoe  in  which  we  voyaged  down  the 
romantic  little  river  by  which  we  returned  to 
Tarawera  we  still  spoke  and  mused  of  the  wonders, 
we  had  seen ; — seen,  we  each  confessed,  with  ex- 
ceeding amazement.  For  myself,  the  roar  of  the 
caldrons  was  in  my  ears  as  we  shot  the  rapids  and 
brushed  against  the  reeds,  and  the  colours  and 
forms  of  the  terraces  and  their  outpourings  haunted 
me  for  many  a  day. 


THE   VICAR'S   GUEST. 


207 


THE     BEIEFLESS     BARRISTEE. 

IBy  John  G.   Saxe.] 


N  Attorney  was  taking  a 
turn, 
In  shabby  habiliments 
drest ; 
His  coat  it  was  shock- 
ingly worn, 
And  the  rust  had  in- 
vested his  vest. 

His  breeches  had  suffered 
a  breach, 
His  linen  and  worsted 
were  worse ; 
He  had  scarce  a  whole 
crown  in  his  hat, 
And  not  half  a  crown  in  his  purse. 

And  thus  as  he  wandered  along, 

A  cheerless  and  comfortless  elf. 
He  sought  for  relief  in  a  song. 

Or  complainingly  talked  of  himself : 

"  Unfortiinate  man  that  I  am  '. 

I've  never  a  client  but  Grief, 
The  case  is,  I've  no  case  at  all, 

And  in  brief,  I've  ne'er  had  a  brief  ! 

■"  I've  waited  and  waited  in  vain, 

Expecting  an  '  opening '  to  find. 
Where  an  honest  young  lawyer  might  gain 

Some  reward  for  the  toil  of  his  mind. 

■*'  'Tis  not  that  I'm  wanting  in  law, 

Or  lack  an  intelligent  face, 
That  others  have  cases  to  plead, 

While  I  have  to  plead  for  a  case. 


"  O,  how  can  a  modest  young  man 
E'er  hope  for  the  smallest  progression- 

The  profession's  already  so  full 
Of  lawyers  so  full  of  profession  ! " 

While  thus  he  was  strolling  around. 

His  eye  accidentally  fell 
On  a  very  deep  hole  in  the  ground. 

And  he  sighed  to  himself,  "  It  is  well !  " 

To  curb  his  emotions,  he  sat 

On  the  curb-stone  the  space  of  a  minute, 
Then  cried,  "  Here's  an  opening  at  last !  " 

And  in  less  than  a  jiffy  was  in  it  ! 

Next  morning  twelve  citizens  came 
(Twas  the  coroner  bade  them  attend). 

To  the  end  that  it  might  be  determined 
How  the  man  had  determined  his  end  ! 

"  The  man  was  a  lawyer,  I  hear," 
Quoth  the  foreman  who  sat  on  the  corse  ; 

"  A  lawyer  ]  Alas  ! "  said  another, 
"  Undoubtedly  he  died  of  remorse  ! " 

A  third  said,  "  He  knew  the  deceased, 
An  attorney  well  versed  in  the  laws, 

And  as  to  the  cause  of  his  death, 

'Twas  no  doubt  from  the  want  of  a  cause.'' 

The  jury  decided  at  length. 

After  solemnly  weighing  the  matter, 
"  That  the  lawyer  was  drowncfed,  because 

He  could  not  keep  his  head  above  water  !  • 


THE     VICAR'S     GUEST. 

[By  Thomas  Archer.] 


^OW  it  was  that  we  began  seriously  to 
consider  the  expediency  of  organising 
"  Penny  Readings  "  in  the  schoolroom 
attached  to  the  quaint  old  square- 
towered  church  at  Chewton  Cudley 
I  haven't  the  remotest  idea.  I  fancy  it  must  have 
been  Mr.  Petifer,  the  curate,  who  suggested  it  after 
he  had  been  to  preach  for  a  friend  of  his  in  Lon- 
don. I  know  that  he  was  much  impressed  by 
what  the  congregation  of  St.  Simeon  Stylites— his 
friend's  church — were  doing,  and  that  there  was  a 


noticeable  difference  in  his  delivery  when  he  read 
the  lessons  after  his  visit. 

The  truth  is  that  we  had  few  changes  of  any 
kind  at  Chewton.  It  had  ceased  to  be  a  market 
town  when  the  new  line  of  railway  took  the  three 
coaches  off  the  road,  and  opened  a  branch  to 
Noxby;  and  though  the  tradesfolk  contrived  U 
keep  their  shops  open  they  did  a  very  quiet  busi- 
ness indeed.  There  was  nothing  actively  specula- 
tive about  the  place,  and  the  motto  of  the  town 
was  "Slow  and  sure."     From  the  two  maiden 


208 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


ladies — the  Misses  Twitwold  who  kept  the  circu- 
lating library,  and  sold  stationery  and  Berlin  wool 
— to  the  brewer  who  owned  half  the  beershops,  or 
the  landlord  of  the  "George  and  Gate,"  who 
kept  a  select  stud  of  saddle  -  horses,  and  had 
promoted  the  tradesmen's  club — nobody  was  ever 
seen  in  a  hurry,  not  even  the  doctor  Avho  had  come 
to  take  old  Mr.  Varico's  practice,  and  was  quite  a 
young  man  from  the  hospitals.  He  began  by 
bustling  about,  and  walking  as  though  he  was  out 
for  a  wager,  and  speaking  as  though  he  expected 
people  to  do  things  in  a  minute  ;  but  he  soon  got 
over  that.  Folks  at  Chewton  Cudley  had  a  way 
of  looking  with  a  slow,  placid,  immovable  stare  at 
anybody  who  showed  unseemly  haste.  If  they 
were  told  to  "  be  quick  "  or  to  "  look  sharp,"  they 
would  leave  what  they  were  about  to  gaze  with  a 
cow-like  serenity  at  the  disturber.  It  was  quite  a 
lesson  in  placidity  even  to  watch  a  farm-labourer 
or  a  workman  sit  on  a  gate  or  a  cart-shaft  to  eat  a 
slice  of  bread  and  cheese.  Each  bite  was  only 
taken  after  a  deliberate  investigation  of  the  sides 
and  edges  of  the  hunch,  and  was  slowly  masticated 
during  a  peculiar  ruminating  survey  of  surround- 
ing objects.  The  possessor  of  a  clasp-knife  never 
closed  it  with  a  click ;  and  if  any  adult  i)erson 
liad  been  seen  to  run  along  the  High  Street  public 
attention  would  have  been  aroused  by  the  event. 

The  vicar  was  really  the  most  active  person  in 
the  town  ;  and  though  he  had  lived  there  in  the 
quaint,  ivy-covered  parsonage  house  for  twenty 
yeai-s,  and  had  been  constantly  among  his 
parishioners,  he  had  the  same  bright,  pleasant, 
and  yet  grave  smile,  the  same  quick,  easy  step, 
the  same  lively  way  vdih  children  and  old  women, 
the  same  impatient  toleration  of  "dawdlers,"  as 
had  distinguished  him  on  his  first  coming.  He 
had  been  a  famous  cricketer  at  college,  and  one  of 
the  first  things  he  did  was  to  form  a  cricket  club  ; 
but  he  always  said  the  batsman  waited  to  watch 
the  ball  knock  down  the  wicket,  and  the  fielders 
stood  staring  into  space  when  they  ought  to  have 
made  a  catch.  This  was  his  fun,  of  course,  and 
the  cricket  club  flourished  in  a  sedate,  slow- 
bowling  sort  of  way.  So  did  the  penny  bank,  and 
the  evening  school,  and  the  sewing-class — for  he 
was  well  loved,  was  our  vicar,  in  spite,  or  perhaps 
because,  of  his  offering  such  a  contrast  to  the 
larger  number  of  his  flock. 

He  was  a  bachelor,  and  his  sister  kept  house  for 
him — a  quiet,  middle-aged  lady,  a  little  older  than 
himself,  and  more  accomplished  than  most  of  the 
CheA\'ton  ladies  were,  not  only  in  music  and  needle- 
work, but  in  the  matter  of  pickles,  puddings,  pre- 
serves, and  domestic  medicine,  abou,t  which  she 
and  the  doctor  had  many  pleasant  discussions,  as 
he  declared  she  was  the  best  friend  he  had,  since 
her  herb  tea  and  electuaries  made  people  fancy 
they  were  ill  enough  to  send  for  him  to  complete 


their  cure.  That  the  vicar  should  have  remained 
unmarried  for  so  many  years  had  almost  ceased  to 
be  a  topic  of  speculation,  for  it  had  somehow 
become  known  that  some  great  sor.ow  had  be- 
fallen him  years  before,  and  it  was  supposed  that 
he  had  been  "  crossed  in  love  ;  "  though,  to  give 
them  credit,  there  were  unmarried  ladies  of  the 
congregation  who  never  could  and  never  would 
believe  that  a  young  man  such  as  he  must  have 
been  could  have  spoken  in  vain  to  any  well- 
regulated  young  person  possessed  of  a  heart. 
They  came  to  the  conclusion,  therefore,  that  he 
never  told  his  love  ;  and  as  he  had  certainly  never 
told  it  to  them,  only  a  few  of  his  more  intimate 
friends  knew  that  the  shadow  which  had  fallen  on 
the  lives  of  those  two  kindly  beings  at  the  vicarage 
was  the  early  marriage  of  a  younger  sister  with 
some  adventurer  who  had  taken  her  away  from 
the  home  to  which  she  never  afterwards  returned, 
and  only  occasional  tidings  were  received  that  she 
was  seldom  to  be  found  at  any  stated  address,  and 
was  travelling  with  her  husband  from  one  poor 
lodging  to  another  in  the  large  towns,  where  they 
had  sometimes  sought  for  her  in  vain. 

But  the  vicar  was  no  kill -joy.  He  entered  with 
hearty  good  will  into  the  scheme  for  weekly  penny 
readings,  and  delivered  an  address  at  the  pre- 
liminary meeting,  in  which  he  alluded  with  a  sly 
touch  of  humour  to  the  capabilities  of  Mr.  Binks, 
the  saddler,  who  was  reputed  to  sing  a  famous 
comic  song,  and  of  Raspall,  the  baker,  who  had 
once  tried  his  hand  at  an  original  Christmas  carol. 
He  even  called  upon  the  ladies — and  we  were  all 
of  us  rather  shocked  at  the  time — to  bring  their 
music ;  and  as  a  piano  had  actually  been  hired 
from  somewhere,  and  stood  on  the  platform,  he 
called  upon  his  sister  for  a  song  there  and  then, 
and  she  actually — we  vjere  surprised — sang  one  of 
those  old  English  ballads  to  hear  which  we  had 
regarded  as  the  sole  privilege  of  the  select  few  who 
were  invited  to  take  tea  at  the  vicarage  at  the 
sewing  meetings  which  we  had  associated  with  the 
name  of  Dorcas  the  widow.  We  should  as  soon 
have  thought  of  seeing  Dorcas  herself  at  a  sewing 
machine  as  the  vicar's  sister  at  a  piano  in  2^uhlic— 
but  she  sang  very  well,  and  the-  ap])lause  at  the 
back  of  the  room  was  uproarious. 

So  it  was  when  the  vicar  himself  follow^ed  with 
Macaulay's  "  Lay  of  Horatius,"  though  of  course 
it  was  only  intended  for  the  front  rows — for  how 
could  the  tradespeople  and  the  labourers  under- 
stand if?  The  eldest  Miss  Rumbelow  was 
persuaded  to  attempt  one  of  Moore's  melodies, 
and  selected  "Young  Love  Once  dwelt,"  with  a 
singularly  wiry  accompaniment,  and  this  having 
restored  complete  decorum,  the  curate  came  for- 
ward in  a  surprising  manner,  and  astonished  us  by 
that  change  in  voice  and  delivery  to  which  reference 
has  already  been  made.     He  had  chosen  "The 


THE   VICAR'S   GUEST. 


209 


Dream  of  Eugene  Aram"  as  his  recitation,  and 
the  tone  in  which  he  announced  the  title  was, 
as  Mrs.  ^lultover  said,  "like  cold  water  running- 
down  your  back."  Every  breath  was  held,  every 
eye  started  as  he  told  us— 

"  'Twors  in  the  prame  of  summerer  tame, 
An  evening  ca-alm  and  kheoule, 
And  fower-and-twanty  happy  baies 
Cam  bounding  out  of  skheoule. " 

The  boys  shifted  uneasily  on  their  seats ;   their 


This  first  meeting  of  oiu-  '•  Penny  Reading " 
Society  gave  a  decided  tone  to  our  subsequent 
proceedings,  but  still  we  had  made  but  slow 
progress,  and  there  was  still  some  difficulty  in 
inducing  many  of  the  readers  to  meet  the 
audible  remarks,  the  half-concealed  mirth,  and 
even  the  exaggerated  applause  of  their  audiences, 
when  the  vicar  one  evening  announced  his 
intention  of  leaving  Chewton  for  a  fortnight 
on    a   visit    to    London,    and    coming   back   in 


Our  Penny  Eeading. 


master  looked  anxious,  as  though  something  per- 
sonal was  coming  ;  and  when  the  drama  reached 
its  height  we  timid  ones  in  front  were  fain  to  pinch 
each  other  in  a  stress  of  nervous  excitement.  The 
tragical  conclusion  was  marked  by  a  simultaneous, 
low,  long,  agricultural  whistle,  which  did  duty  as 
k  sigh,  and  the  audience  first  stared  into  each 
other's  faces  and  then  gave  a  roar  of  applause, 
amidst  which  the  vicar  announced  that  the  penny 
readings  were  established  from  that  night ;  that 
books  containing  suitable  pieces  for  recitation 
could  be  obtained  at  the  circulating  library ;  and 
that  practice  nights  for  efficient  members  would  be 
held  on  Wednesday  evenings. 

But  everybody  went  away  impressed  with  Mr. 
Petifer's  sudden  accession  of  dramatic  power. 
2a 


time    to    prepare    a    grand    entertainment    for 
Christmas. 

It  wanted  only  three  weeks  to  Christmas  when 
the  vicar  returned,  and  told  his  sister  to  have  the 
guest's  room  got  ready,  as  he  expected  a  profes- 
sional gentleman  from  London  to  visit  him  in  a 
day  or  two.  It  was  on  the  Wednesday  that  the 
idlers  about  the  old  coach-yard  of  the  "  George  and 
Gate  "  woke  up  from  their  usual  expressionless 
stare  at  things  in  general  to  notice  a  stranger  who 
came  along  at  a  brisk  rate,  carrying  a  small  port- 
manteau, and  looking  sharply,  and  with  a  quick 
penetrating  glance  at  them  and  the  sign  and  iim 
bar  of  the  tap,  where  he  called  for  a  glass  of  ale 
and  inquired  his  way  to  the  vicarage.  He  was  a 
well-knit,  actiV'  man  of  about  forty-five,  with  dark, 


210 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


glossy  hair,  just  beginning  to  turn  grey ;  a  dark, 
short  moustache  ;  shaven  cheeks  and  chin,  with  a 
blue  tinge  where  the  beard  and  whiskers  would  have 
been ;  and  he  wore  well-fitting  but  rather  shabby 
clothes,  which  scarcely  seemed  to  be  in  keeping 
with  the  big  (false  or  real)  diamond  ring  on  his 
right  hand  and  a  huge  breast-pin  in  his  satin 
stock. 

These  were  the  remarks  some  of  us  made  about 
him  when  he  appeared  on  the  low  i)latform  at  our 
penny  reading  the  next  evening,  and  was  intro- 
duced by  the  vicar  as  "  My  friend,  Mr.  Walter  De 
Montfort,  a  gentleman  connected  with  the  dramatic 
profession  in  London,  who  has  consented  to  favour 
us  with  a  reading,  and  to  contiibute  to  our  improve- 
ment as  well  as  to  our  entertainment." 

A  good  many  of  us  thought  we  had  never  heard 
reading,  or  rather  recitation,  till  that  evening; 
there  was  such  a  keen,  bright,  intense  look  in  the 
man's  face  ;  such  a  rich,  flexible,  sonorous  roll  in 
his  voice  ;  such  a  conscious  appropriateness  in  his 
rather  exaggerated  gestui-es,  that  when  he  com- 
menced with  what  I  have  since  learnt  was  a 
peculiarly  stagey  expression,  the  poem  of  "  King 
Robert  of  Sicily  and  the  Angel,"  and  began  to  tell 
us  how — 

"  King-ar-Rroberut  of  Sissurlee  " 

dreamed  his  wonderful  dream,  we  were  all  eye  and 
ear,  and  when  he  had  concluded  people  looked  at 
each  other  and  gasped. 

Who  was  he  1 — an  actor — a  manager  of  a  theatre 
— a  great  tragedian  ?  How  did  the  vicar  first  know 
him]  How  long  was  he  going  to  stay]  What 
theatre  did  he  perform  at]  All  these  questions 
were  asked  among  ourselves,  and  to  some  of  them 
we  obtained  answers  at  the  next  Dorciis,  which  was 
held  at  the  vicarage  for  the  last  time  before  Christ- 
mas. Mr.  De  ilontfort  was  not  a  regular  actor 
now.  He  had  been,  but  he  now  taught  elocution 
and  deportment,  and  had  been  introduced  to  the 
vicar  by  a  brother  clergyman  in  London.  His 
credentials  were  undoubted,  but  it  was  feared  he 
was  poor.  Of  his  ability  everybody  spoke  highly, 
and  he  was  so  accomplished  that  the  vicar  had 
invited  him  to  stay  over  Christmas,  but  he  had 
told  them  he  must  be  in  London,  for  he  was 
a  widower,  with  one  little  child,  a  girl  who 
was  at  school,  but  would  be  waiting  for  him  to 
fetch  her  home  for  her  one  week's  holiday  in 
the  year. 

Mr.  De  Montfort  had  grown  more  familiar  to  the 
Chewton  Cudley  people  by  that  time.  He  had  only 
been  with  them  a  few  days,  and  yet  he  had  a  dozen 
invitations.  The  vicar  had  evidently  taken  an  un- 
accountable liking  to  him.  There  were  even  people 
who  went  so  far  as  to  say  we  should  hear  him  read 
the  lessons  in  church  if  he  were  to  stay  over 
another  Sunday.    He  had  been  to  two  more  penny 


readings,  and  had  held  an  extra  night  for  instruct- 
ing some  of  the  members  in  the  art  of  elocution. 
Only  three  people  seemed  rather  doubtful  as  to 
their  opinion  of  the  visitor.  One  of  these  was  the 
vicar's  sister.  She  said  nothing  slighting,  but  it 
was  evident  she  mistrusted  him  a  little.  Another 
was  Mr.  Petifer,  and  his  coolness  to  the  stranger 
was  set  down  to  jealousy,  especially  when  he  fired 
up  on  the  subject  of  the  probable  reading  of  the 
lessons.  The  third  was  Mr.  Femm,  the  doctor,  but 
he  only  grinned,  and  said  he  thought  he  remem- 
bered having  heard  De  Montfort  recite  under 
another  name  when  he  was  a  student  at  Guy's 
and  used  to  go  to  the  "Cat  and  Fiddle"  in  the 
Walworth  Road.  "  It's  dreadful  to  hear  a  doctor 
talk  so,"  said  Mrs.  Marchbold ;  "  these  young 
medical  men  have  no  reverence." 

But  Christmas  was  drawing  near.  The  church 
was  to  be  decorated  with  holly.  The  vicar  went 
about  smiling  and  jovial,  while  even  Mr.  Petifer 
made  a  sort  of  truce  with  the  visitor,  who  showed 
such  remarkable  resources  and  such  excellent  taste 
in  i)utting  up  the  evergreens,  and  was  so  sedate 
and  resi)ectful  to  all  the  ladies,  that  I  fancy  there 
was  something  said  about  his  bringing  his  little 
daughter  down  to  Chewton  for  the  holidays.  Mr. 
Binks  would  have  taken  De  Montfort  off  the 
vicar's  hands  in  a  minute.  Raspall  was  heard 
to  intimate  that  he  had  a  nice  warm  spare  room 
over  the  bakehouse  doing  nothing ;  and  our  prin- 
cipal butcher,  INIr.  Clodd,  declared  boldly  that  a 
man  like  that,  who  could  amuse  any  company, 
and  was  fit  for  any  company,  was  worth  his 
meat  anywhere  at  holiday-time. 

But  it  only  wanted  a  few  hours  to  Christmas 
Eve,  and  Mr.  De  Montfort  was  about  to  leave. 
He  had  received  an  invitation  from  the  landlady 
of  the  "  George  and  Gate,"  countersigned  by  the 
members  of  the  club,  to  spend  the  last  evening 
with  them,  and  they  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
wish  that  the  vicar  himself — "  if  they  might  make 
so  bold  —  would  condescend  to  look  in  for  an 
hour." 

This  request  of  course  could  not  be  complied 
with,  and  the  guest  was  about  to  send  a  polite 
refusal — reluctantly,  it  must  be  confessed — but 
the  vicar  readily  excused  him.  The  townsfolk 
naturally  wanted  to  have  liim  among  them  again 
for  an  evening,  and  he  could  return  about  eleven 
for  a  glass  of  hot  spiced  elder  wine  before  going  to 
bed.  The  vicar  had  put  his  hand  on  De  Montfort's 
shoulder  as  he  said  this,  and  was  looking  at  him  in 
his  kind,  genial  way,  when  his  visitor  looked  up, 
rose,  hesitated,  and  seemed  about  to  say  some- 
thing. There  was  such  a  remarkable  expression 
in  his  face  that  the  good  parson  afterwards  said 
he  should  never  forget  it ;  but  it  passed,  and  with 
a  smile,  which  was  half  trustful,  half  sorrowful,  the 
actor  turned  away. 


THE  VICAR'S  GUEST. 


211 


"  Well,  then,  if  you  think  I  ought  to  go,  I'll  say 
yes,"  he  replied  ;  ''  but  I  had  thought  to  spend  the 
last  night  here  with  you." 

"I  shan't  have  done  work  much  before  ten 
myself,"  said  the  vicar  ;  "  for  I  must  see  about 
the  beef  and  bread  for  the  pensioners,  and  there's 
the  new  silver  money  and  the  cakes  for  the  school 
children,  and  no  end  of  things.  So  we'll  meet 
at  a  late  supper  ;  don't  stay  to  the  club  pies 
and  sausages,  but  get  back  in  time  for  ours. 
There's  no  need  to  say  don't  drink  too 
much  of  the  'Gaor^e  and  Gate'  ale  and  grog, 
for  you  never  take  much  of  either,  so  far  as  J 
know." 

It  was  a  special  evening  at  the  "  George  and 
Gate,"  and  every  member  of  the  club  who  could 
leave  his  shop  was  there  by  eight  o'clock.  The 
low-ceilinged  but  handsome  parlour  was  all  bright 
with  holly,  and  the  plate  stood  on  a  sideboard 
ready  for  supper.  Two  noble  punchbowls  graced 
the  table,  and  two  sheaves  of  spotless  churchwarden 
pipes  supported  the  large  brass  coffer  filled  with 
tobacco,  which  opened  only  by  some  cunning 
mechanism,  set  in  motion  by  dropping  a  half- 
penny in  a  slit  at  the  top.  Mr.  Binks  was  in  the 
chair  ;  Clodd,  the  butcher,  sat  opposite  ;  a  great 
fragrance  of  spice  and  lemon  peel  pervaded  the 
place.  It  only  needed  a  speech  to  commence  the 
proceedings,  and  Mr.  Binks  was  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion. It  was  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  vicar's  guest. 
He  resi)onded  with  a  few  words  and  a  recitation. 
There  was  a  song  and  another  toast,  and  then  the 
accomplished  visitor  played  on  the  "George  and 
Gate  "  fiddle  in  a  manner  that  astonished  every- 
body— played  it  behind  his  back,  over  his  head, 
under  his  arm,  between  his  knees  with  the  bow 
in  his  mouth.  The  fun  was  uproarious  till  he 
repeated  a  poem  with  a  tragedy  in  it  ;  then  he 
showed  a  few  tricks  with  the  cards,  spun  plates, 
passed  coins  and  watches  into  space,  and  sang  a 
song  with  a  violin  accompaniment.  The  evening 
was  in  his  honour,  and  he  opened  his  whole  reper- 
toire of  accomplishments.  Time  passed  quickly ; 
the  waiters  were  at  the  door  with  the  tablecloths 
ready  to  lay  for  supper.  There  were  just  glasses 
round  left  in  the  punch  bowl.  Mr.  Clodd  proposed 
"  The  Health  of  the  Vicar."  They  all  rose  to  do 
it  honour,  and  called  upon  De  Montfort  to  reply. 
He  had  his  glass  in  his  hand— just  touching  it 
with  his  lips.  "  I  wish,"  he  said,  and  then  he 
stopped  ;  "  I  wish — I  could  say  what  I  would  do 
to  deserve  that  he  should  call  me  his  friend,"  he 
said;  "but — it — can — never — be."  They  wondered 
what  he  would  say  next,  there  was  such  a  strange 
look  in  his  eyes.  They  were  about  to  ask  him 
what  he  meant,  when  everybody  there  v/as  startled 
by  a  sudden  cry  in  the  street — a  sudden  cry  and 
an  uproar  that  penetrated  to  the  inn-yard — the 
cry  of  "  Fire  !"  and  the  trampling  of  feet.    They 


were  all  out  in  a  minute,  De  Montfort  first,  and 
without  his  hat. 

"  It's  your  place,  Raspall,  as  I'm  a  living 
sinner,"  said  Clodd,  forcing  himself  to  the  front 
and  commencing  to  run. 

"  Don't  say  so !  Don't  say  so  !  "  cried  the  baker, 
"for  my  inissis  is  up  at  the  school  makin'  the 
cakes,  and  the  man's  down  below  settin'  the  batch, 
and  my  little  Bess  is  in  bed  this  hour  an'  more ! 
Good  — ■^-  !  Oh,  help  I  help  !  where's  that 
engine  1 "  But  the  key  of  the  engine  house  had 
to  be  found,  and  the  wretched  old  squirt  had  to  be 
wheeled  out,  and  the  hose  attached  and  righted  ; 
and  before  all  this  could  be  done,  the  flame  which 
seemed  to  have  begun  at  the  back  of  Raspall's 
shop,  had  burst  through  the  shutters,  and  was 
already  lapping  the  outer  wall.  It  was  an  old- 
fashioned  house,  with  a  high,  ricketty  portico  over 
the  door,  and  a  tall,  narrow  window  a  good  way 
above  it. 

At  this  window,  where  the  flicker  of  the  flame 
was  reflected  through  the  smoke  that  was  now 
pouring  out  and  blackening  the  old  woodwork,  a 
glimpse  of  a  child's  face  had  been  seen,  and  Raspall 
was  already  in  the  roadway  wringing  his  hands  and 
calling  for  a  ladder. 

"  We  must  get  her  down  from  the  top  of  that 
there  portico,"  cried  Clodd ;  "  but  I  'm  too  heavy. 
Here  ;  who'll  jump  a'  top  of  my  back,  and  so  try 
to  clamber  up  1 " 

"  Stand  away  there  ! "  shouted  a  strong,  deep 
voice  ;  and  almost  before  they  could  move  aside  a 
man  shot  past  them  like  a  catapult,  and  with  one 
bound  had  reached  the  carved  cornice  of  the 
portico  with  his  right  hand.  The  whole  structure 
quivered,  but  in  another  moment  he  had  drawn 
himself  up  with  the  ease  of  a  practised  acrobat, 
and  was  standing  on  the  top.  It  was  De  Mont- 
fort. 

The  window  was  still  far  above  him,  and  the 
glare  within  showed  that  the  fire  had  reached  the 
room ;  but  a  gutter  ran  down  the  wall  to  the 
leaden  roof  of  the  portico,  and  he  was  seen 
through  the  smoke  to  clasp  it  by  a  rusty  projection 
and  to  draw  his  chin  on  a  level  with  the  sill,  to 
cling  to  the  sill  itself  with  his  arm  and  elbow,  and 
with  one  tremendous  effort  to  sit  there  amidst  the 
smoke  and  to  force  the  sash  upward.  They  had 
scarcely  had  time  to  cry  out  that  he  had  entered 
the  room  when  he  was  out  again — pursued  by  the 
flame  that  now  roared  from  the  open  space,  but 
with  something  under  his  arm.  Somebody  had 
brought  out  a  large  blanket,  and  four  men  were 
holding  it ;  the  engine  was  just  beginning  to  play 
feebly  where  it  wasn't  wanted  ;  and  a  short  ladder 
had  been  borrowed  from  somewhere.  He  dropped 
a  little  heavily  from  the  window,  but  was  on  his 
feet  when  they  called  to  him  to  let  the  child  fall, 
and  a  cheer  went  up  as  he  seemed  to  gather  up  hi^ 


212 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


strength,  and  tossed  his  living  burden  from  him  so 
that  it  cleared  the  edge  of  the  woodwork  and  was 
caught  and  placed  in  her  fathers  arms. 

"  Jump  !  jump  for  your  life  1 "  they  cried,  for  the 
wretched  portico  had  begun  to  sway,  and  every  lip 
turned  white.  It  was  too  late  ;  he  had  stooped  to 
swing  himself  off  when  the  whole  thing  fell  in 
ruin,  and  he  in  the  midst  of   it,  covered  with 


Raspall  was  crying  more  for  the  accident  than  for 
his  injured  house,  which  was  still  smouldering, 
though  the  engine  had  at  last  put  out  the  fire. 
His  child  was  safe,  but  he  felt  almost  guilty  for 
rejoicing  that  her  life  had  been  spared.  Binks  and 
Clodd  sat  patiently  on  the  fence  opposite  the 
vicarage,  talking  in  low  tones.  At  last  the  vicar 
came  out  to  tltem,  and  told  them  to  go  home.    The 


"He  seemed  to  gather  up  his  strength."  (Dran-nhj  W.  U.  Overend.) 


the  heavy  lead  and  woodwork  and  the  stone  and 
bricks  that  had  come  down  with  it. 

A  score  of  strong  and  willing  hands  lifted  the 
wreck  away  piecemeal,  and,  under  the  direction  of 
the  doctor,  got  him  out,  and  placed  him  on  a 
hurdle  made  soft  with  blankets  and  straw.  He 
was  insensible,  but  his  face  and  head  were  un- 
injured, for  he  was  found  lying  with  his  arms  pro- 
tecting both.  Carefully  they  bore  him  to  the 
vicarage,  the  vicar  following,  and  his  sister  already 
at  the  door  with  everything  ready. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  the  sad  group  of 
men  who  stood  outside  anxiously  waiting  heard 
that  he  was  so  seriously  injured  that  his  life  was 
in  danger,  and  tliat  he    was    still    unconscious. 


patient  would  not  be  left  for  a  moment.  In  the 
morning  he  woiild  let  them  know  if  there  was  any 
change. 

There  was  a  change,  but  only  after  long  efforts 
to  restore  consciousness  ;  and  the  vicar  himself  sat 
by  the  injured  man's  bedside,  with  something  in 
his  hand  upon  which  his  tears  fell  as  he  looked  at 
it  by  the  light  of  the  shaded  lamp.  When  De 
Montfort  had  been  carried  in  and  placed  upon  the 
bed  the  doctor  had  asked  to  be  allowed  to  undress 
him — without  help — ^as  it  required  a  practised 
hand,  and  for  a  moment  the  vicar  left  the  room  to 
bring  up  some  restorative  and  the  bandages  which 
had  been  sent  for  to  the  surgery.  He  had  turned 
into  the  dining-room,  when  to  his  surprise  the 


THE  SHIPWRECK. 


213 


doctor  came  quickly  but  softly  downstairs,  entered 
the  room,  and  gently  closed  the  door. 

"  Do  you  feel  that  you  could  bear  another  great 
shock  just  now  ? "  he  said,  in  a  curious  tone,  taking 
hold  of  the  vicar's  wrist  as  he  spoke.  "  Yes,  I 
think  you  can  ;  your  nerves  are  pretty  firm." 

"  What  do  you  mean  1    Is  he  dead  1 " 

"  No ;  but  I  have  undressed  him,  and  under 
his  shirt  near  his  heart  found  something  which 
I  think  you  ought  to  see.  I  may  be  mistaken, 
but  I  seldom  miss  observing  a  likeness,  especially 
one  so  strong  as  this " — and  he  held  out  a 
locket  attached  to  a  silken  cord  and  holding  a 
likeness. 

The  vicar  trembled  as  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
for  it.  Some  prevision  of  the  truth  had  already 
flashed  upon  him ;  and  as  he  carried  the  trinket 
to  the  candle  above  the  mantelpiece,  he  leaned 
heavily  against  the  wall  and  groaned  as  though 
he  had  been  smitten  with  sudden  pain. 

"  A  man  like  that  could  scarcely  have  been  cruel 
to  a  woman,  at  all  events,"  said  the  doctor,  in 
a  low  but  emphatic  tone.  "Poverty  is  not  the 
worst  of  human  ills,  and  even  occasional  want, 
if  it  be  not  too  prolonged,  is  endurable — more 
endurable  than  brutal  neglect  and  indifference. 
This  poor  fellow  was  going  home  to  his  child,  I 
think?" 

The  vicar  clasped  the  young  man's  hand,  and 
bent  his  noble  grey    head    upon    his    shoulder. 


"  Take  my  thanks,  my  dear  friend,"  he  said,  with 
a  sob.  "  You  have  recalled  me  to  myself.  He  was 
my  sister's  husband." 

As  the  vicar  sat  by  the  bedside  on  the  Christ- 
mas Eve,  watching,  the  injured  man  moved 
and  tried  to  raise  himself,  but  fell  back  with  a 
heavy  sigh. 

The  good  parson  was  bending  over  him  in  a 
moment. 

"  Shall  I  fetch  the  doctor  again  ] "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  must  speak  to  you  now,  alone." 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  the  vicar  went  to 
the  stair-head,  and  called  for  his  sister  and  th« 
doctor  to  come  up  ;  but  we  never  heard  quite  what 
took  place — what  was  the  convei'sation  between 
the  vicar  and  his  guest.  But  the  next  day  the 
vicar  went  to  London,  and  before  the  new  year  a 
plain  funeral  w^ent  from  the  vicarage  to  the  old 
churchyard,  and  the  curate  conducting  the  Burial 
Service  had  to  stop  with  his  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes,  for  in  the  church,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  was 
a  little  girl  whose  silent  sobbing  was  only  hushed 
when  the  aunt  whom  she  had  but  just  found  took 
her  in  her  arms  and  pressed  the  little  pale  face  to 
her  bosom. 

Nobody  knew  what  name  was  on  the  locket,  for 
it  was  replaced  where  it  so  long  had  rested,  and 
was  buried  when  the  heart  beneath  it  had  ceased 
to  beat ;  but  the  name  afterwards  carved  on  the 
tombstone  was  not  De  Montfort. 


THE     shipweeck:. 

[From  "  Sir  Edward  Seaward's  Narrative."] 


E  sailed  from 
Bristol  on  the 
30tli  of  October, 
173,3,  with  a  fine 
breeze  from  the 
eastward.  On 
going  down  the 
river  Avon  in  a 
boat,  to  join  the 
brig  at  King- 
road,  my  wife 
was  charmed  by 
the  scenery  on 
each  side  of  the 
banks.  St.  Vin- 
cent's rocks  pre- 
sented a  sublime 
object  on  the  right  side ;  "  I  shall  never  forget 
this  scene,"  she  observed,  "it  is  so  impressive." 
She  did  not  then  know  that  a  time  was  not  far 
distant,  when  her  abode  would  be  under  such  a 
rock,  equally  precipitous,  but  more  gigantic. 


The  wind  was  fair ;  we  sailed  down  the  Bristol 
Channel,  with  fine  weather  and  smooth  water.  It 
blew  fresh  from  the  north-west,  after  passing 
Lundy  Island.  Eliza  was  very  sick,  and  the 
captain  was  in  bad  humour,  so  that  we  were  far 
from  comfortable ;  but  the  wind  changed  again, 
and  with  it  returned  our  lively  sense  of  present 
happiness.  In  three  weeks  we  got  into  the  trade 
winds  ;  in  little  more  than  five  weeks,  we  passed 
through  the  Mona  passage,  between  Porto  Rico 
and  Hispaniola  ;  and  on  the  day  six  weeks  of 
quitting  the  Bristol  Channel,  we  made  the  east 
end  of  Jamaica.  We  were  charmed  by  the 
superb  face  of  the  whole  country.  The  sky  was 
brilliant  and  cloudless,  the  breeze  fair  and  refresh- 
ing :  our  spirits  were  proportionally  buoyant ;  anr 
as  the  vessel  ran  along  shore  for  Port  Royal,  all  th 
next  day  our  delight  was  kept  alive  by  the  newness, 
andvastness  of  the  scenery  which  lay  upon  our  right. 

A  negro  pilot  came  on  board,  as  we  neared  Port 
Royal.  Eliza  was  a  good  deal  struck  by  his 
appearance  and  way  of  speaking,  which,  being 


214 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


nothing  new  to  me,  I  hardly  noticed  ;  bvit  to 
her  he  was,  at  that  moment,  the  representative  of 
the  whole  negro  population.  We  soon  hauled 
round  Port  Royal  point,  the  sandy  foundation  of 
a  small  town  of  little  importance.  But  many 
years  ago,  on  the  space  we  now  sailed  over,  its 
ancestor  had  stood,  which,  they  say,  like  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah,  having  become  the  seat  of  all 
licentiousness,  was  swallowed  up  by  an  earthquake 
in  1692. 

We  had  nothing  to  do  at  Port  Royal,  but 
worked  up  to  Kingston  agaiust  the  sea-breeze; 
and  came  to,  off  the  town,  as  the  breeze  was  dying 
away.  ^Ir.  Dickinson,  my  uncle's  friend,  was 
absent  in  the  country  at  his  penn ;  we  therefore 
determined  to  remain  on  board  all  night.  About 
nine  o'clock  next  morning,  we  received  a  visit 
from  him,  and  he  insisted  that  we  should  take 
up  our  residence  at  his  penu  during  our  stay, 
which  we  gladly  accepted ;  and  after  I  had  made 
arrangements  with  him,  he  drove  myself  and  wife 
out  into  the  country,  where  we  were  agreeably 
entertained  by  the  hospitality  of  our  friend,  and 
the  novelty  of  all  we  saw. 

******** 

The  brig  was  under  weigh  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  we  ran  down  to  Port  Royal,  a  distance  of 
eight  or  nine  miles,  in  little  more  than  an  hour. 
With  the  same  tine  breeze,  we  stood  out  to  sea, 
and  shaped  our  course  to  the  southward,  to  keej) 
clear  of  the  Pedro  shoals ;  and  we  found  by  our 
reckoning  on  Tuesday  at  noon,  that  we  must  have 
run  nearly  two  hundred  miles  during  the  last 
twenty -four  hours. 

The  wind  now  veered  to  the  n.e.  and  n.n.e.  in 
squalls,  looking  sometimes  very  black  to  wind- 
ward. Towards  evening  1  requested  the  captain 
to  lay  to  under  easy  sail  till  daylight,  as  we  were 
now  approaching  the  main  land,  where  the  shoals 
and  rocks  were  numerous,  and  not  accurately  laid 
down  on  the  chart ;  but  although  he  made  her 
snug,  he  would  keep  his  course,  to  get  in  under 
the  island  of  Rattan  in  the  morning,  if  possible ; 
and  I  was  obliged  to  yield  to  his  determination. 
One  of  the  men  said  we  should  have  a  hurricane  : 
"  The  hurricane  months  are  over,  you  blackguard," 
replied  the  captain,  angrily.  The  man,  however, 
appeared  to  know  what«he  was  talking  about,  and 
I,  for  one,  believed  him  ;  but  the  captain  laughed 
at  him,  after  his  choler  had  subsided.  I  then 
thought  it  quite  time  to  insist  on  the  dead  lights 
being  put  in,  to  secure  the  cabin  windows  against 
the  violence  of  the  sea,  if  it  should  break  up 
against  them ;  and  they  were  scarcely  secured, 
when  it  began  to  thunder  and  rain  in  torrents. 
My  poor  dear  wife  had  been  induced  to  go  below 
a  little  before  the  storm  came  on,  by  the  sudden 
and  awful  blackness  of  the  sky  ;  and  although  I 
4id  not  remain  five  minutes  after    her,  I  was 


thoroughly  wetted  to  the  skin,  before  1  could 
get  off  deck.  I  had  scarcely  entered  the  cabin, 
when  the  wind  arose  with  such  violence,  that 
the  brig  in  an  instant  seemed  on  her  beam  ends. 
At  this  moment  I  thought  I  heard  some  one  fall 
down  the  companion  ladder ;  and  going  to  see 
who  or  what  it  was  that  had  made  the  unlucky 
tumble,  I  found  my  two  goats,  which  some  one 
had  thrown  there  out  of  the  way,  as  the  door  was 
immediately  closed  down  after  them,  to  keep  the 
sea  from  rolling  into  the  cabin. 

I   now  endeavoured  to  console  my  wife,   who 

bestowed  reci]n'ocal  consolations  on  myself.    "God 

will    preserve    us ! "    said    she ;    "  I    feel    that 

I  we    are     safe,     notwithstanding     this     dreadful 

I  hurricane  :  but    if  we  should    be    drowned,  we 

shall  die  together,  and  we  shall    not  be   sepa 

I  rated  :  we  shall  meet  where  we  can  part  no  more." 

j  Her  feelings  now  overpowered  her,  and  she  fell 

j  on  my  neck  and  wept.     I  kissed  away  the  tears 

i  from    her  eyes,  saying,   "We  will   trust  in  the 

!  Almighty." 

I  wanted  to  go  on  deck,  but  was  not  able  to 
effect  it.  I,  however,  got  the  people  there  to  open 
I  one  of  the  side  doors  a  little,  and  I  peeped  out. 
The  wind  howled  horribly,  and  the  sea  was  all 
I  in  a  foam.  Two  of  the  hands,  and  the  yawl, 
had  been  washed  overboard.  We  continued  to 
be  driven  by  the  storm  for  eight  or  ten  hours,  I 
I  cannot  tell  in  what  direction  ;  but  about  two  or 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they  called  out, 
"  Breakers  !  breakers !  land  !  breakers  !  "  Hear- 
ing this,  I  got  up  the  ladder  to  the  companion 
door.  All  was  again  fast  down,  and  they  could 
not  open  it.  In  a  few  minutes  the  vessel  struck, 
and  we,  who  were  below,  were  thrown  violently 
on  the  cabin  floor.  The  poor  dog,  our  faithful 
Fidele,  howled  mournfully  as  he  was  driven  to 
the  further  end  of  the  cabin.  "  We  are  indeed 
lost ! "  said  my  wife,  as  she  recovered  a  little  from 
the  fall  she  had  just  received.  I  did  not  now  wait 
to  console  her  by  my  words  :  I  renewed  my  efforts 
to  force  the  companion  door,  and  get  upon  deck ; 
but  they  could  not  hear  me  for  the  noise  made 
by  the  howling  of  the  wind  and  the  breaking  of 
the  sea ;  yet  I  sometimes  heard  them,  and  could 
discover  that  they  were  making  ready  to  get  the 
long  boat  over  the  gunwale  to  escape.  I  now 
became  frantic  ;  and  hallooed  with  all  my  power, 
but  to  no  purpose.  By  accident  I  stumbled  over 
an  empty  stone  bottle  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder, 
with  which  I  struck  the  companion  door  so 
violently  that  I  succeeded  in  arresting  the  atten- 
tion of  the  captain.  He  unbolted  it,  telling  me 
at  the  same  time,  "  We  are  all  lost  ! "  but  that  the 
men  were  trying  to  launch  the  long  boat,  our  only 
chance ;  and  if  Mrs.  Seaward  and  I  chose  to  go, 
we  must  be  up  in  a  second ;  for,  "  look  there  ! " 
said  he,  crying  out  at  the  same  time,  "another 


THE   SHIPWRECK. 


215 


shove,  lads,  and  she's  all  oui-  own  !  " — the  long 
boat  was  launched,  and  I  returned  down  the 
ladder  with  all  speed.  The  moment  I  rejoined 
my  dear  wife,  I  urged  her  instantly  to  accompany 
me  to  the  deck,  telling  her  our  situation,  "  No  !  " 
said  she,  "  I  will  not  stir,  and  you  will  not 
stir ;  they  must  all  perish ;  a  boat  cannot 
endure  this  storm.  Let  us  trust  in  God, 
Edward,"  continued  she,  "and  if  we  die,  we 
die  together." — "It  is  done,"  I  replied;  "we 
will  not  stir." — "Then  tell  them  so,"  cried  she, 
hastily ;  "  and  if  you  can  lay  your  hand  on  the 
bread-bag  in  your  way,  it  may  be  useful  to  them, 
if  they  survive  this  hour."  I  ascended;  but  no 
boat  was  to  be  seen,  yet  now  and  then  I  thought 
I  heard  the  voices  of  the  miserable  crew  at  some 
distance,  on  the  brig's  quarter  ;  and  sometimes  I 
fancied  I  saw  them,  when  the  strong  lightning's 
glare  lighted  up  everything  around  for  an  instant. 
The  brig  soon  took  the  ground  on  a  reef  within, 
and  heeled  over,  which  threw  me  down  the  ladder. 
My  wife  hastened  to  my  assistance,  but  was  her- 
self thrown  to  the  other  side  of  the  cabin.  More 
than  an  hour  passed  away  with  us  thus,  in  dismal 
darkness  below ;  but  we  enjoyed  the  light  of  God's 
presence,  and  were  resigned  to  his  will. 

We  sat  endeavouring  to  keep  our  position,  and  so 
remained  till  the  heaving  motion  of  the  vessel 
gradually  subsided,  and  at  length  became  scarcely 
perceptible  ;  but  she  continued  to  lie  over  nearly 
on  her  beam-ends.  I  now  again  thought  it  right 
to  reach  the  deck  ;  on  ascending  the  ladder,  I 
pushed  oi>en  the  lee  half  of  the  companion  door, 
when  a  gleam  of  joy  rushed  upon  me,  on  per- 
ceiving that  the  day  had  dawned,  and  that  the 
water  to  leeward  was  quite  smooth.  There  was 
high  land  a-head  and  a-stern,  and  a  fine  sandy 
beach  abreast  of  us,  little  more  than  a  mile  off, 
I  hastened  below  to  my  wife,  into  the  dark  cabin, 
exclaiming,  "  Come  on  deck ;  it  is  daylight ! " 
Without  a  word,  she  ascended  the  ladder.  On 
emerging  from  darkness  into  light,  her  feelings 
overcame  her,  and  she  poured  forth  her  heart 
to  God.  After  a  few  moments  of  abstraction, 
"  Where  is  the  boat  and  our  poor  companions  1 " 
she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  do  not  see  them  ! " — "  Per- 
haps," I  replied,  "  they  are  safely  landed  on  yon 
beach,  and  will  soon  return  to  take  us  out  of  the 
vessel."  I  now  looked  earnestly  around  me  :  the 
mainmast  was  gone,  but  the  stump  was  standing  ; 
all  the  fowls  in  the  coop  to  leeward  were  drowned : 
the  ducks,  which  were  in  the  other  coop,  survived, 
and  also  four  fowls  ;  yet  these  seemed  more  dead 
than  alive.  All  was  desolation  on  deck  and  aloft ; 
but  the  morning  smiled  serenely  on  us,  while  a 
gentle  calm  spread  itself  over  the  ocean  all 
around. 

The  land  astern  seemed  high,  and  well-wooded  ; 
but  our  eyes  were  attracted  by  the  smooth  sandy 


shore,  where  we  wished  and  hoped  to  be  ;  and 
our  attention  became  gradually  riveted  on  a 
promontory,  distant  about  three  miles,  upon 
which  the  rising  sun  shone  directly.  We  looked 
in  every  direction  for  the  boat,  but  in  vain  ;  and 
then  sad  misgivings  for  the  fate  of  the  crew 
crossed  our  mind,  which  extended  to  ourselves  ; 
for  we  depended  on  them  as  a  means,  and,  indeed, 
the  only  probable  means,  of  our  own  escape  from 
this  unknown  shore.  I  fortunately  thought  I 
would  try  the  pumps.  I  went  to  work,  and 
kept  pumping  till  I  was  quite  exhausted,  and 
the  water  still  came  up  as  abundantly  as  ever. 
I  concluded  the  brig's  bottom  must  be  stove  in, 
so  that  if  we  should  beat  off  the  reef  into  deep 
water,  we  must  sink  and  go  down. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  the  breeze 
began  to  set  in  from  the  sea,  nearly  e,n.e,,  and  the 
brig  worked  fore  and  aft,  I  told  my  wife  what 
my  fears  were,  and  that  if  it  so  happened,  we 
must  endeavour  to  climb  the  fore-rigging,  and 
take  the  chance  from  thence  of  any  escape  that 
might  offer. 

The  sea-breeze  freshened,  and  in  half  an  hour 
the  brig's  stern  swung  off  into  deep  water,  and 
she  hung  by  the  bow.  8he  now  righted  ;  I  there- 
fore immediately  went  to  see  if  the  rudder  was 
gone,  which  I  had  every  reason  to  expect,  but  it 
was  not ;  and  at  this  I  rejoiced  greatly,  exclaim- 
ing, "  The  rudder  is  safe ;  that's  well ! "  At 
length  the  brig  broke  adrift,  having  most  likely 
torn  off  her  false  keel  forward,  and  perhaps  some 
of  the  coral  rock  which  had  held  her.  I  was 
now  all  amaze ;  I  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
The  brig  continued  to  drift  in  upon  a  point  of 
rock,  on  which  I  expected  to  be  dashed  in 
l)ieces,  but  the  current  directed  us  past  it  to 
the  southward,  down  towards  the  height  which 
we  had  so  attentively  fixed  our  eyes  on  early  in 
the  morning.  I  was  desirous  to  get  the  brig 
under  some  command ;  and,  finding  the  fore- 
staysail  yet  untorn,  I  got  the  weather  sheet 
over,  and  was  able  to  set  the  sail :  the  vessel's 
head  now  paid  off,  and  she  would  steer  ;  I  there- 
fore made  up  my  mind  to  keep  on  as  far  as  I 
could  with  safety,  hoping  to  see  some  inlet.  She 
went  along  cleverly,  not  being  at  all  water-logged, 
and  consequently  in  no  danger  of  sinking ;  hence 
on  that  score  my  great  fear  was  removed,  I  soon 
approached  the  mountainous  promontory,  which 
seemed  to  stand  up  before  us  to  obstruct  our 
further  progress  :  I  therefore  determined  to 
bump  her  on  shore;  and  I  ran  for  the  beach 
close  under  the  promontory.  How  great  was 
my  joy  when  I  discovered  an  inlet,  not  twice 
the  vessel's  breadtL  I  pushed  into  it,  and  in 
a  few  minutes  found  myself  at  the  end  of  a  little 
cove.  Here  the  brig  struck,  and  stuck  fast  with 
her  bow:  the  shock  threw  myself, and  my  wife 


216 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


forward  with  great  violence  ;  and  we  were  both 
more  bruised  by  this  happy  event,  than  by  all 
the  tossings  and  tumblings  we  had  experienced 
during  the  hurricane. 

We  saw  ourselves  at  length  delivered  from 
the  perils  of  the  ocean,  and  placed  in  a  state  of 
security  :  we  raised  our  hearts  to  the  fountain 
of  mercy,  and  blessed  God  in  thankfulness.  We 
looked  back  upon  the  ocean,  and  the  reef,  and 
the  rocky  islands,  from  whose  horrors  we  so  lately 
escaped,  with  strong  emotions  still  partaking  of 
terror ;    but  it  was    not  long   before    our    self- 


I  suppose  I  slept  some  hours  :  for  when  I  awoke, 
I  looked  up,  and  saw  my  wife  sitting  by  me,  with 
Fidele  at  her  side  :  she  had  been  watching  me  in 
my  sleep.  Said  she,  "You  have  taken  a  sweet 
rest :  how  delightfully  the  breeze  blows  in  upon 
us,  through  the  cabin  windows !  I  should  now 
be  very  comfortable,  if  we  could  find  the  boat 
with  our  companions."  I  arose,  and  set  about 
hunting  for  some  biscuit,  and  found  the  bag  I 
had  intended  to  throw  into  the  long  boat,  hanging 
on  a  nail  behind  the  ladder ;  and  there  I  saw  our 
two  goats  huddled  together  behind  a  hammock. 


'I   IGNITED   THE    LEAVES."      (VraWH  blj   W.  11.   OuCJCIld.) 


possession  completely  returned  :  we  were  in  a 
snug  place,  and  the  sea  all  on  this  side  of  the 
reef,  to  far  beyond  us,  perfectly  smooth  :  we  felt 
ourselves  under  God's  protection,  and  were  at 
ease. 

The  poor  dog  was  overjoyed  by  the  first  admis- 
sion of  light,  and  by  our  presence,  and  seemed 
as  if  he  w^ould  jump  out  of  his  skin.  I  soon 
succeeded  in  getting  all  the  dead  lights  out ;  we 
then  saw  tables,  chairs,  swinging  lamp,  chests, 
trunks,  and  many  other  things  huddled  together, 
and  some  smashed  to  pieces. 

We  now  felt  our  exhaustion,  but  I  could  not 
find  any  bread,  nor,  indeed,  anything  else,  at 
the  instant.  Soon,  however,  I  laid  my  hand  on 
an  unbroken  bottle  of  wine  jammed  up  in  one 
of  the  berths,  and  we  took  a  small  quantity  :  then, 
reclining  on  the  after-lockers,  we  both  fell  asleep. 


I  brought  the  bag  along  with  me,  and  we  began 
to  eat  of  it  with  thankfulness ;  taking  a  little 
sup  of  the  wine  now  and  then  from  the  bottle. 
I  told  Eliza  I  had  seen  the  goats,  and  that  they 
were  alive.  One  of  them,  I  was  sorry  to  find, 
had  its  hinder  leg  broken ;  but  we  could  not  at 
that  instant  attend  to  it ;  for  it  occurred  to  me, 
that  the  bow  of  the  vessel  should  be  immediately 
secured  to  the  rocks,  as  another  hurricane  might 
come,  and  blow  us  out  of  the  creek.  There  was 
plenty  of  rope  on  deck,  which  I  set  about  making- 
fast  round  large  blocks  of  cliff  on  our  larboard 
bow ;  then  rested  content,  after  three  or  four 
hours'  great  exertion,  with  what  I  had  done. 

Meanwhile  my  wife  had  taken  the  dead  fowls 
from  the  coop,  and  fed  the  remaining  live  ones. 
"  One  of  the  drowned  fowls,"  observed  I,  "  will 
be  a  good  dinner  for  us,  and  we  want  it." — "  I 


THE   SHIPWRECK. 


217 


am  not  hungiy,"  she  replied  ;  "  yet  you  must  be 
so  :  but  how  can  we  make  a  fire  ] "  I  bethought 
myself  of  the  ship's  spy-glass;  "This  will  do," 
said  I ;  "  the  great  lens  is  a  burning-glass  ;  I  will 
step  on  shore  with  it,  and  kindle  a  fire." 

We  put  up  our  provisions,  and  with  my  wife 
and  her  faithful  dog,  both  overjoyed,  we  once 
more  trod  the  welcome  earth  again.  We  looked 
on  the  vessel  with  deep  emotion,  and  on  the 
strange  land  we  were  now  for  the  first  time 
treading  together- -the  probable  residence  of  our 
future  life,  whether  long  or  short.  We  proceeded 
along  the  sand  under  the  rocks,  picking  up  some 
dry  branches  and  dead  leaves ;  but  being  under 
the  shadow  of  a  high  precipice,  I  carried  some 
of  my  fuel  to  a  place  where  the  sun  shone ;  then 
unscrewing  the  top  of  the  spy-glass,  I  ignited 
the  leaves,  and  thus  a  fire  was  instantly  kindled. 
My  helpmate  set  to  work  plucking  the  fowls, 
while  I  removed  the  fire  closer  to  the  rock,  into 
the  sha,de.  "We  have  no  water,"  she  said, 
*'and  I  am  indeed  very  thirsty."  I  therefore 
proposed  to  walk  along  under  the  rocks,  and 
look  for  a  spring.  She  did  not  like  me  to  go 
out  of  her  sight,  fearing  I  should  be  surprised 
by  savages,  who  might  be  somewhere  about. 
This  idea  had  never  yet  crossed  my  mind ;  but 
I  confess  it  made  me  very  uneasy.  In  conse- 
quence, we  agreed  to  dress  the  fowls  as  fast  as 
we  could,  and  return  on  board  to  eat  them. 
We  then  retraced  our  steps  to  the  brig,  fearing 
every  moment  to  be  surprised  by  the  natives. 

To  repel  any  attack  from  them  I  lost  no  time 
in  getting  down  the  three  muskets  which  had 
hung  securely  in  their  fastening.  I  tried  the 
flints,  and  loaded  the  muskets,  and  with  this 
preparation  for  our  defence,  I  was  at  present 
satisfied. 

We  now  set  to  work  to  put  the  wreck  of 
furniture,  and  other  things,  in  their  places. 
Before  evening  the  cabin  looked  much  as  it 
used  to  do  :  and  the  vessel  being  in  a  perfectly 
safe  and  quiet  inlet,  we  felt  much  comfort  in 
the  possession  of  so  desirable  an  asylum. 

We  again  went  upon  deck,  to  look  around  for 
the  boat  and  our  companions.  To  have  a  more 
extended  view,  I  went  up  the  fore-rigging,  when 
I  was  enabled  to  see  over  the  sandy  beach, 
which  seemed  about  half  a  mile  broad ;  and 
I  w,as  delighted  to  behold  an  extensive  lake  or 
harbour,  surrounded  by  land,  immediately  on 
the  further  side.  A  confused  idea  crossed  my 
mind,  that  we  were  somewhere  or.  the  Spanish 
Main ;  and,  on  coming  down,  I  told  Eliza  what 
I  thought.  "Well,  be  it  as  it  may,"  said  she, 
"  we  have  felt  that  God  is  gracious,  and  we  will 
rest  entirely  upon  his  providence."  I  wished 
her  to  land  again,  saying,  we  would  walk  under 
the  rocks  to  the  further  side  of  the  isthmus.  "  I 
2  B* 


will  do  so,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  replied ;  "  but  I 
think  it  were  better  to  defer  it  until  the  morning ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  we  can  do  something  for 
the  poor  goat  that  has  broken  its  leg ;  and  make 
some  other  arrangements  here ; "  to  which  I 
instantly  acquiesced. 

I  got  the  poor  goat  upon  deck,  and  bound  up 
its  broken  leg ;  then,  bringing  up  the  other,  gave 
them  half  a  dozen  plantains,  which  they  ate 
eagerly.  All  our  vegetable  stock,  brought  from 
Kingston,  had  been  put  into  the  steerage  in 
hampers.  Here  were  the  sailors'  berths,  and 
chests,  and  a  few  yams  and  plantains,  which 
they  had  provided  to  eat  with  their  salt  meat : 
they  also  kept  a  bag  here  for  biscuits,  and 
supplied  it  at  their  pleasure.  On  finding  this 
new  store,  we  gave  the  remainder  in  our  bag  to 
the  few  fowls  and  ducks  that  had  survived  the 
storm  :  their  feathers  were  now  dry,  and  they 
looked  quite  cheery.  The  sun  being  set,  the 
evening  came  on  apace ;  we  therefore  retired 
to  our  cabin,  closing  the  companion  door  after  us. 

We  lay  down  in  peace  and  thankfulness  to  our 
heavenly  Father  for  his  providential  care  of  us ; 
but  our  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  the  noises 
of  the  preceding  night  yet  ringing  in  our  ears. 
We.  arose  with  the  dawn,  the  cool  freshness  of 
which  was  truly  delightful  :  a  couple  of  oranges, 
with  biscuit,  was  our  breakfast :  and,  still  finding 
water  in  the  tea-kettle,  we  drank  some  of  it, 
mixed  with  a  little  wine.  "  Now,"  said  I,  "  will 
you  venture  on  shore,  and  let  us  explore  the 
other  side  of  the  isthmus  ? " — "  Yes,"  she  replied, 
"I  will  go  cheerfully  now."  I  took  two  of  the 
muskets,  and  gave  to  her  a  boarding-pike  to 
carry  as  a  staff,  and  to  have  recourse  to  for 
defence,  if  necessaiy ;  and,  with  ou.r  faithful 
little  dog,  we  descended  at  one  step  from  the 
brig's  side  to  the  rock. 

We  thus  proceeded  to  cross  the  isthmus,  close 
under  the  precipitous  promontory  ;  when,  after 
walking  about  two  hundred  yards,  we  suddenly 
had  a  distinct  view  of  the  tine  sheet  of  water 
beyond,  with  land  on  every  side  of  it.  The  rocks 
were  wooded  high  up,  more  or  less,  with  palmettos 
and  some  other  small  trees.  When  Ave  came 
within  about  two  hundred  yards  of  the  beach, 
they  terminated  abruptly  in  a  high  front  to  the 
west ;  opposite  to  which  lay  a  low  black  rock,  that 
stretched  itself  into  the  lake.  We  looked  round  the 
face  of  the  promontory,  and  had  the  inexpressible 
delight  to  see  at  no  great  distance  a  spring  of 
water  gushing  forth  in  an  ample  stream,  clear  as 
crystal.  We  thought  of  the  Israelites  in  the 
desert,  and  we  blessed  their  God  and  ours ; 
feeling  that  the  gracious  words  of  his  mercy 
were  literally  verified  unto  us,  giving  us  "rivers 
of  water  in  a  dry  place,  and  the  shadow  of  a  great 
rock  in  a  weary  land." 


218 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


MES.    BEO\VN    ON    THE    ARMY. 


[By  Abthce 

*  (^§  ROWN,"  I  says,  "  I'm  a-goin'  to  a  review ; 
j|^  tlio',"  I  says,  "  what-ever  is  the  use  of 
©^  all  them  soldiers,  I  should  like  to  know, 
'cept  for  the  look  of  the  thing,  as  certainly  is  im- 
posing, tho'  red  ain't  a  colour  as  suits  me  1 "  So 
Brown  he  says,  "  You  don't  know  nothing  about 
it,  however  should  you  1 " 

I  says,  "  Don't  1 1  Why,"  I  says,  "  my  dear 
mother  washed  two  rigiments  as  was  quartered 
near  Honnslow." 

"  Well,  then,"  says  Brown, "  why  ever  do  you  go 
to  see  them  1 " 

I  says,  "  Do  you  think,  Mr.  Brown,  as  I'm  goin' 
to  allow  a  daughter  of  mine,  tho'  married,  to  go  to 
sich  a  sight  alone  where  a  mother  is  a  protection  1 
Not  as  I  expects  no  eujojTuent ;  and  as  to  her  a- 
luggin'  that  boy  all  the  way,  it's  madness  down- 
right, that  it  is." 

"  Why,"  says  Brown,  "  she  lives  close  by,  so  it 
ain't  nothin'  for  her ;  but  as  to  your  a-goin',  it's 
foolishness." 

"  Well,"  I  says,  "  I  never  see  such  a  man  as  you 
are.  WTien  I  don't  know  things,  full  of  your 
ridicule ;  and  when  I  wants  to  see  them  with  my 
own  eyes,  always  the  one  to  hold  back.  But,"  I 
says,  "  go  I  do,  thro*  having  promised  Jane  as  I'd 
be  there  early  to  meet  her  at  the  Marble  Arch,  as 
the  Edgware  Road  is  a  long  distance." 

So  I  started  with  Brown,  as  see  me  into  the 
Whitechapel  Road,  where  the  'busses  runs  regular, 
and  ketched  the  fust,  as  rattled  that  dreadful,  thro' 
bein'  empty,  as  seemed  to  jar  my  head  to  death. 

Not  as  I  held  with  that  conductor's  remarks  as 
hollared  to  the  coachman  when  he  helped  in  a 
party  in  widow's  weeds  as  was  certainly  lusty, 
"  Go  on,  Joe,  here's  more  ballast,"  as  is  insults  to 
a  lady,  as  she  certainly  was,  tho'  she'd  that  hurried 
as  I  thought  she  never  would  get  her  breath  again, 
and  was  obliged  for  to  take  her  drops,  as  was  in  a 
little  basket,  as  she  said  went  agin  her,  tho'  a  great 
sufiferer  aperiently,  as  told  me  she  was  a-goin'  to 
her  daughter,  as  wouldn't  be  pacified  till  she  got 
there,  *'  Tho',"  she  says,  ■**  it's  as  much  as  my  life's 
worth,  thro'  having  done,  as  I  seldom  or  never 
does,  put  my  feet  in  hot  water,  with  James' 
powders,  as  acts  on  the  skin,  a  medicine  as  I  don't 
hold  with." 

So  we  was  talking  friendly,  thro'  her  being  one 
as  was  experienced,  and  like  my  own  constitution, 
and  knovPTi  sorrers  in  having  buried  her  good 
gentleman,  as  was  in  the  white-lead  line,  a  thing 
as  is  deleterious,  and  will  lurk  in  the  constitution, 
and  brought  on  fits,  thro'  which  he  was  took 
sadden ;  not  as  he  was  one  for  to  regret,  for  she  told 


Sketculey.] 

as  his  habits  was  bad  and  temper  violent,  and  she 
says  to  me,  "  Forgive  and  forget,  tho',"  she  says, 
"  I  shall  carry  that  man's  marks  to  me  grave  ; " 
and  was  that  pleasant  company  as  I  was  sorry 
when  she  got  out  in  Holborn,  thro'  her  daughter 
a-livin'  in  Bloomsbury. 

I  says,  "  Conductor,"  I  says,  a-hittin'  him  with 
my  umbrella,  "  put  me  down  at  the  Marble  Arch, 
as  is  somewhere  beyond  Charing  Cross."  So  he 
says,  "  Whatever  do  you  mean  by  stoppin'  the 
'bus  for  thaf?"  and  bangs  the  door  that  violent 
as  set  the  horses  off,  and  if  they  didn't  gallop  like 
mad,  and  frightened  the  horses  in  another  'bus,  as 
begun  a-gallopin'  too.  A  old  gentleman  in  the 
'bus  hollared  at  him,  and  says,  "  Let  me  out,  I'm 
not  goin'  to  endanger  my  life."  "  Nor  more  ain't 
I,"  says  I. 

"  Come  out  then,"  says  the  conductor.  "  Where's 
your  money  1 " 

I  gives  him  a  shillin',  and  if  he  didn't  give  me 
eightpence  change  in  coppers,  as  I  dropped  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  where  he  left  me  a-standin', 
with  cabs  and  'busses  all  about  a-shouting  to  me, 
as  was  stoopin'  to  pick  up  the  money,  as  I  only  re- 
covered three-halfpence,  tho'  I  must  say  as  many 
parties  was  very  polite  a-troubling  themselves  to 
look  for  it ;  not  as  I  thought  as  kicking  about  the 
mud  was  a  good  plan,  as  all  scuttled  away  pretty 
quick,  thro'  a  policeman  a-comin'  up  as  led  me  by 
the  arm  on  the  pavement. 

So  I  says,  "  Is  this  the  Marble  Arch  1 " 

"No,"  says  he,  "  the  Pantheon  ;  but,"  he  says,  "it 
ain't  much  further  if  you  keeps  on  the  shady  side." 

Bless  the  man  !  he's  got  nice  ideas  about  far,  he 
has,  for  it  was  nearly  eleven  when  I  got  to  the 
Marble  Arch,  where  Jane  was  a-waitin'  with  her 
eldest,  as  isn't  quite  three,  and  the  babby. 

She  says,  "  Why,  mother,  how  hot  you  look ; 
you  must  want  a  something,  mustn't  she,  Mrs. 
Woolley  ? "  as  was  with  her,  a  woman  as  I  can't 
a-bear,  bein'  one  as  is  all  fair  to  your  face  and 
knives  and  lancets  behind  your  back. 

So  she  says,  "  Mrs.  Brown,  do  take  a  something,. 
as  is  only  across  the  road,  as  is  easy  to  get  at,  thro' 
lamp-posts  put  up  for  to  protect  you  agin  them 
'busses  as  comes  round  you  on  all  sides,  let  alone 
other  public  conveniences,  as  is  bein'  drove  in 
ev'ry  direction,  and  cari'iages  by  the  million." 

If  it  hadn't  been  as  I  was  that  faint,  thro'  the  day 
bein'  that  swelterin',  I  would  not  a-took  nothin', 
for  I  know'd  that  Mrs.  Woolley's  deceitful  ways, 
as  it  was  one  word  for  me  and  half  a  dozen  for 
herself,  as  know'd  her  tricks,  thro'  having  watched 
her  narrow  when  nursin'  of  Jane,  as  never  held 


MRS.    BROWN   ON"   THE   ARMY. 


219 


with  her  ways  with  that  child,  and  I'm  sure  could 
sleep  thro'  its  screams,  a-sayin'  as  it  was  temper, 
whereas  I  found  the  pin  myself,  as  is  a  woman  as 
would  swear  black  is  white,  a-daring  to  say  as  it 
had  dropped  off  of  me  on  to  the  infant. 

I'm  sure  I  was  that  terrified  a-gettin'  across  that 
road  and  back  that  what  I  did  take  didn't  seem  to 
-do  me  no  good,  and  throwed  me  into  that  heat  as 
I  thought  I  never  could  have  bore  myself,  tho'  I 
had  a  musling  gown  with  a  barege  shawl  as  was 
that  flimsy  as  I  didn't  seem  half-clothed,  thro'  it 
being  what  I  calls  a  breezy  day  with  dust  in  that 
park  a-comin'  up  in  clouds,  and  the  sight  of  people 
as  there  wasn't  no  seeing  thro'. 

Well,  there  was  parties  as  had  brought  forms  to 
stand  on  as  would  throw  you  over  people's  heads, 
tho'  I  was  doubtful  myself,  for  they  was  that 
rickety  as  I  should  not  like  to  have  trusted  to ; 
but  one  young  man  he  was  a-tryin'  it  on,  and  says 
to  me,  "  Here  you,  mum  !  why,  it's  strong  enougli 
for  a  elephant,'^  and  idjots  as  was  standin'  by 
grinned.  So  I  walks  on  till  we  comes  to  a  plank 
as  was  supported  on  barrels,  as  the  party  as  owned 
it  jumped  on  for  to  prove  it  strong,  and  his  good 
lady  says  as  they  wasn't  in  that  line,  but  only  come 
out  for  to  see  it  theirselves,  as  is  a  field  day  well 
worth  the  money,  as  was  threepence  each,  and 
agreed  to  hold  Sammy  up. 

Just  then  come  a  nice  old  gentleman  as  was 
stout  and  cheerful,  as  says  he'd  try  it,  and  up  he 
gets,  and  advises  me,  as  was  hesitating,  when  them 
parties  as  it  belonged  to  hoisted  me  up  unawares. 

Certainly  it  was  a  grand  sight  to  see  them 
troops  as  moved  like  machines  a-jumping  up  and 
turning  round,  as  is  their  manoeuvring  ways.  So 
the  people  says,  "Here's  the  Duke."  I  says, 
*'  What  Duke  1  Why,"  I  says,  "  he's  dead."  "  No," 
says  the  old  gentleman  as  was  standin'  up  by  me. 
"  Well,"  I  says,  "  I  see  his  funeral,  that's  all  I  know, 
and  remember  hearin'  of  the  battle  well,  as  there 
was  a  deal  o'  talking  about  when  I  was  a  very  young 
gal,  where  his  leg  was  shot  off  thro'  Shaw  the  Life- 
guardsman,  as  was  massacreed  by  the  Prussians 
a-comin'  up  in  the  moment  of  victory."  He 
says,  a-laughin',  "It's  the  Duke  of  Cambridge." 
I  says,  "  Really.  I've  heard  tell  of  Cambridge 
very  often,  but  never  heerd  as  it  was  a  Duke." 
And  if  he  didn't  bust  out  laughing  like  mad. 

Well,  the  sun  was  a-beatin'  down  on  my  head, 
and  I  was  lookin'  at  them  soldiers,  as  must  be 
dreadful  in  battle.    I  says,  "  There  ain't  no  fear  of 


their  firin'  on  us  unprovoked,  I  suppose  ;  '*  for  I've 
heerd  tell  of  such  things,  and  spent  balls  ain't  n  j 
joke,  as  has  been  death  to  thousands,  for  I  never 
shall  forget  our  Joe  a-ketching  me  accidental 
between  the  shoulders  with  a  ball  as  he  was 
playin'  rounders  with,  so  can  easy  fancy  what  lead 
must  be. 

Well,  Jane  she'd  got  down,  so  had  Mrs.  WooUey, 
thro'  the  infant  bein'  fractious,  and  just  then  the 
soldiers  let  fly  all  of  a  sudden  simultaneous  with 
that  banging  and  smoke  in  clouds  as  it  give  me 
that  sudden  start  as  I  throwed  back  my  arms 
violent  with  a  scream  as  made  every  one  look  round, 
and  I  ketches  that  poor  old  gentleman  as  was  next 
me  sudden  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach  accidental 
with  my  elber  as  made  him  start  back  that  forcible 
as  upset  the  plank  as  we  was  a-standin'  on,  and 
away  I  went  backwards,  and  should  have  been 
killed  if  the  old  gentleman,  being  under  me,  hadn't 
broke  my  fall,  as  didn't  take  it  in  good  part,  tho' 
whatever  parties  could  see  to  laugh  at  I  can't  think. 

I  says,  "  Don't  stand  there  a-grinnin',  but  lend 
me  a  hand  up  some  on  you,"  as  they  did  at  last, 
tho'  the  old  gentleman  was  most  hurt,  not  as  he 
fell  far,  and  said  it  was  my  weight  as  had  nearly 
stifled  him,  as  brought  on  words  thro'  Mrs. 
Woolley  a-remarkin'  as  she  should  think  so,  as 
is  a  reg'lar  mask  of  skin  and  bones.  So  I  says, 
"  It's  luck  as  it  wasn't  you  as  fell  on  him,  for 
you'd  a  cut  him  to  bits  like  a  iron  hurdle."  As 
I  heard  her  with  my  own  ears  call  me  a  "  swel- 
terin'  porpus."  So  I  says,  "  Jane,"  I  says, "  if  that 
female  is  a-goin'  home  with  you,  I  knows  myself 
too  well  for  to  put  it  in  her  power  to  insult  me 
under  my  own  daughter's  roof."  So  I  says,  "I 
should  prefer  the  omnibus,  as  will  set  me  down 
within  five  minutes."  So  I  says,  "Let's  part 
friends."  So  for  all  as  she  could  say  I  would  go, 
thro'  her  a-sayin'  as  she  could  shut  her  door  agin 
that  party  as  had  walked  in  from  Ealing,  as  I 
should  not  have  wished,  tho'  in  my  opinion  a  low- 
lived woman,  as  I  could  tell  through  her  conver- 
sations in  that  crowd  as  made  a  deal  too  free 
for  me. 

As  to  them  soldiers,  it's  all  rubbish  and  waste  of 
powder  and  ball,  as  will  end  bad  some  day  thro' 
them  firin'  that  promiscous  at  parties  as  is  a- 
standin'  armless,  tho'  Brown  will  have  it  as  it  was 
only  powder  as  they  fired,  tho'  I  knows  better,  for 
I  could  hear  the  balls  as  must  have  knocked  me 
over,  and  a  mercy  it  was  no  wus. 


220 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


[From  "  Little  Doctor  Faust." 
By  Henet  J.  Byeon.] 


itF  you'll  walk  into  my  Show,  sirs, 

I've  no  end  of  tilings  you  know,  sirs  ; 
I've  a  dappled  dromedari/  who  can  very 
nearly  speak ; 
I've  a  brace  of  ring-tailed  monkeys, 
Quite  obedient  as  flunkeys ; 
I've  an  ostrich  who  can  see  into  the  middle  of  next 
week. 
I've  a  clever  marmoset  too. 
Who  will  tell  you  where  you  get  to, 
With  his  eyes  severely  bandaged  ;  I've  an  educated 
flea ; 
I've  a  brace  of  learned  ponies. 
And  two  cobras  who  are  cronies, 
I've  a  camel  with  a  weakness  for  a  winkle  for  his  tea. 

We've  a  splendid  aviary. 

With  a  "  PoUy  "  that's  caUed  "  Mary," 
We've  a  pheasant  most  unpleasant,  who  will  always 
disagree 

With  the  eldest  of  the  chickens. 

Who  quotes  Thackeray  and  Dickens, 
We've  a  Cocker-too  that  counts  so  he'd  give  any 
Cocker  three. 

We've  a  personal  old  vulture 

Who  most  grossly  will  insult  yer, 


And  a  cassowary  who's  extremely  vulgar  when  he's 
vexed  ; 
We've  an  elderly  flamingo 
Who  remarks  at  times,  "  By  Jingo  !  " 
We've  a  peacock  with  a  tale  "  to  be  concluded  in 
our  next." 


We've  a  very  learned  lizard, 
Who's  as  deep  as  any  wizard  ; 
We've  a  cockroach  who  can  whistle  all  the  operatic 
airs ; 
We've  a  beetle  who  can  caper. 
And  a  toad  that  reads  the  paper, 
And  a  saltatory  oyster  who  skips  up  and  down  the 
stairs. 
We've  a  musical  old  mussel. 
Who  can  sing  like  Henry  Russell ; 
We've  a  Cheshire  feline  specimen  who 's  always  on 
the  grin  ; 
And  a  lunatic  old  locust. 
Who  was  very  nearly  hocussed 
By  the  artful  armadillo  v/ho'd  designs  upon  his 
tin. 


THE  SHOWMAN'S   SONG. 


221 


We've  fossilised  Iguanodons, 
And  Ipecacuanhadons, 
And  mummies  who've  been  dummies  for  these 
many  thousand  years. 
If  up  the  stairs  you  '11  follow  me, 
We  '11  show  you  Right  "  toll-ollemy ; " 
You  pays  your  money  and  you  takes  your  choice, 
my  little  dears. 
There's  no  show  in  the  fair  at  all, 
That  with  us  can  compare  at  all, 
We  are  bound  to  lick  creation,  though  the  simile 
is  low — 
It  expresses  what  we  mean,  sirs. 
That  there  never  yet  was  seen,  sirs. 
Such  a  scorching  exhibition  as  this  'ere  partic'ler 
Show. 

We've  a  pair  of  golden  eagles, 
Who  can  both  "  give  tongue  "  like  beagles  ; 
We've  a  wonderfully  learned  and  intelligent  old 
frog, 
Who's  composed  a  five-act  drama, 
Whilst  a  literary  llama. 
With  a  long  quill  from  the  porcupine,  knocked  off 
the  epilogue. 
We've  a  female  boa  constrictor, 
Who  (until  you  contradict  her) 
Is  as  pleasant  an  old  reptile  as  you'd  ever  wish  to 
meet. 
We've  an  ocelot  whose  hobby 
Is  to  call  out,  "Bobby,  Bobby  !" 
When  he  hears  the  midnight  footfall  of  the  Peeler 
on  his  beat. 

We've  a  terrapin  who  teaches, 
And  a  pelican  who  preaches, 
We've  a  friendly  prairie  buffalo  who  calls  me  an 
"Old  Boss;" 
We've  a  clever  anaconda. 
Who's  been  reading  D.  Deronda, 
Which  he  doesn't  think  as  striking  as  the  "Mill 
upon  the  Floss." 
We've  a  vocal  she-hysena, 
Sings  like  Paitti  (Adelina) ; 
We've  a  whelk   who  draws  like  Wilkie,  we've  a 
scientific  stork, 
We've  a  beaver  fond  of  Lever, 
And  a  versatile  retriever, 
Who  draws  anything  you  teU  him,  from  a  covert  to 
a  cork. 


We've  a  walrus  good  at  waltzing, 
Seven  sand-pipers  who  all  sing, 
And  a  wombat  who  wQl  argue  with  the  elderly 
Nylghau ; 
We  've  an  elephant  whose  satire 
Causes  one  old  water-rat  ire, 
Which  he  shows  by  making  faces  at  the  motherly 
macaw. 
We've  a  pony  (from  Jerusalem), 
We  christened  him  "  Kafoozleum," 
A  duck  that 's  always  adding  up  his  feathered 
brothers'  bills ; 
We've  a  cat  that 's  cataleptic, 
And  a  badger  who 's  dyspeptic, 
And  a  highly  nervous    Cockle    who    is    always 
taking  pills. 

We've  a  marvellous  gorilla. 
Who's  designed  a  "  moddern  villa," 
And  a  turkey  who  "  Bismillah "  cries,  whenever 
he's  put  out  ; 
We've  a  venerable  old  ferret. 
Who  at  med'cine  shows  such  merit. 
He's  consulted  by  the  ostrich,  who  is  threatened 
by  the  gout. 
We've  a  caligraphic  camel,  he 
Writes  letters  to  his  family. 
Though  making  quite  a  mystery  of  whom  he  sends 
them  to. 
We've  a  frog  (a  rare  old  "  soaker  ") 
Who  can  criticise  like  Croker, 
And  a  'coon  who's  cut  his  old  friends  and  fore- 
gathered with  the  gnn. 

We  've  a  classical  young  gander, 
Who  indulges  in  Menander, 
And    who    finds    for   ignoramuses    no    possible 
excuse ; 
Greek  and  Hebrew,  likewise  Latin, 
He's  phenomenally  pat  in. 
He's    so   wise  we    often   fancy   he    must   be  a 
Solon-goose. 
We've  a  sensitive  old  bustard. 
Who  can't  bear  the  sight  of  mustard. 
We've  a  quail  who  never  flinches,  and  a  tumbler 
that  is  cracked  ; 
We've  a  whiting  good  at  writing 
Novelettes  that  are  exciting. 
And  a  Yankee  duck  who's  waterproof  because  he's 
canvas-back'd. 


^^*- 


222 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


BEOUGHT     TO      BAY. 


ERHAPS  you 
may  laugh,  but, 
nevertheless,  it  is 
perfectly  true  ; 
and  this  is  how 
it  happened. 

As  you  may  be 
quite  siu-e,  be- 
ing only  nine- 
teen, I  was  most 
tremendously 
anxious  to  get  my 
commission,  and 
when  at  last  I 
was  gazetted  to  the  204th  Foot,  I  did  not  give 
my  tailor  much  rest  till  my  uniform  and  the  para- 
phernalia of  my  outfit  were  sent  home. 

I  dare  say,  to  the  old  and  sage,  it  is  very 
ridiculous  ;  but  to  me  it  was  glorious,  that  first 
putting  on  of  military  garments.  The  bedroom 
door  was  locked  :  I  was  quite  alone.  There  was 
a  tall  cheval  glass  by  the  bedside,  and  what  was 
there  to  prevent  me  from  strutting  about,  as 
scarlet  in  the  face  almost  as  my  tightly -buttoned 
tunic  1  It  did  not  fit  me  perfectly,  I  knew  ;  but 
having  it  altered  would  necessitate  its  being  taken 
away,  and  that  idea  was  insupportable.  So  I  kept 
my  things  just  as  they  were,  and  in  the  hot  stage 
of  scarlet  fever  in  which  I  then  was,  the  fact  of 
my  regiment  being  ordered  out  to  China  did  not 
give  me  much  uneasiness  ;  for  even  in  a  Chinese 
war  there  did  not  seem  much  cause  for  discomfort, 
since  I  believed  that  the  British  could  chase  the 
barbarians  by  the  thousand. 

I  will  not  trouble  you  with  the  account  of  our 
long  journey  out,  and  our  landing  in  the  Celestial 
Empire.  Let  it  suflRce  when  I  tell  you  that  upon 
our  arrival  it  was  to  find  hostilities  in  full  progress, 
and,  boy  as  I  was,  I  had  to  take  my  turn  with  the 
rest,  smelt  powder,  heard  the  whiz  of  bullets,  and 
many  a  time  saw  my  smart  uniform  soiled  with 
mud  and  filth. 

It  was  hot  work  in  both  senses  of  the  word. 
Now  we  were  wading  in  a  river-bed  or  creek,  vnth 
the  blazing  sun  above  us,  and  the  rank,  steamy 
heat  rising  from  the  slime  ;  now  we  were  storming 
a  mud  fort,  or  chasing  the  enemy  over  the  swampy 
rice -fields  or  through  cane-brakes;  while  the 
next  day,  perhaps,  we  were  accompanying  some 
looting  expedition. 

At  last,  after  making  pretty  good  progress  up 
the  country,  we  stormed  a  town,  which  I  will  call 
here  Ling-Po.  It  had  been  a  pretty  tough  job,  for 
the  mud  walls  had  been  held  by  a  strong  party  of 


Braves.  However,  at  last,  the  day  was  ours  :  the 
Braves  were  supposed  to  be  driven  out,  and  we 
had  taken  possession,  the  men  distributing  them- 
selves pretty  well  over  the  place,  and  I  was  along 
with  half  a  dozen  of  the  bandsmen,  who  were  on 
their  way  to  the  place  chosen  for  head-quarters, 
there  to  deposit  their  instruments  previous  to 
going  upon  ambulance  duty  :  the  helping  of  the 
wounded  being,  as  perhaps  you  are  aware,  the 
duty  of  the  bandsmen  in  time  of  war. 

We  were  rather  indifferently  armed,  the  bands- 
men having  only  those  short,  Roman-looking 
swords — very  blunt  ones,  too — and  though  I  had 
my  sword  and  a  revolver,  I  had  received  a  nasty 
thrust  through  the  right  arm  from  the  spear  of  a 
Brave — a  hurt  which  necessitated  the  wounded 
limb  being  carried  in  a  sling,  and  made  me  i'eel 
more  sick  and  faint  than  I  cared  to  own  amongst 
men  who  would  have  looked  upon  my  injury  as  a 
mere  scratch. 

The  town  was  evidently  a  large,  densely  popu- 
lated place,  full  of  crooked  lanes,  streets,  and  blind 
alleys,  among  which  we  kept  wandering  for  quite 
an  hour  before  we  were  compelled  to  own  that  we 
had  lost  our  way. 

"  If  ye'll  be  kind  enough  to  take  the  lade,  Mr. 
Grey,  we'll  folly  ye,"  said  one  of  the  bandsmen, 
turning  suddenly  round  upon  me,  and  scratching 
his  puzzled  pate. 

"  I'm  ready  enough  to  lead,  Dennis,"  I  said ; 
"but  I'm  about  done  up  for  want  of  a  little 
water  to  drink.  I  was  thinking  of  asking  you  to 
carry  me." 

"  I'm  thinking,  sor,  that  we  may  just  as  well  sit 
down  in  the  shade  and  wait,  for  the  head-quarters 
is  jist  as  Hkely  to  come  to  uz,  as  we  are  to  get  to 
it.  A  big  place  like  this  would  puzzle  a  map- 
maker." 

"  I  thought  I'd  tell  you,  sir,  that  there's  a  couple 
of  Chinese  been  following  us  for  the  last  five 
minutes,"  said  another  of  the  men,  "  and  'taint  as 
if  we  had  rifles." 

I  looked  uneasily  back  down  the  long,  narrow, 
sun-glared  street,  but  there  was  not  a  soul  visible. 
All  was  still  as. death,  save  for  a  distant  shot  or 
two,  which  seemed  to  come  from  quite  another 
part  of  the  town,  and  to  indicate  that  the  fighting 
was  not  entirely  at  an  end.  The  houses  on  either 
hand  were  closely  shuttered,  and  presented  the 
most  blank  of  aspects,  and  though  we  scanned  the 
windows  above,  not  a  watching  face  was  visible 
anywhere. 

I  could  not  help  owning  that,  should  we  be 
attacked  by  some  detached  body  of  the  Braves,  our 


BROUGHT   TO   BAY. 


223 


chances  would  be  veiy  small ;  and  I  should  have 
blamed  myself  for  want  of  care,  had  not  the 
difficulty  of  finding  one's  way  through  such  a 
wilderness  become  more  and  more  evident  at  each 
stride  we  took. 

"It's  my  belafe,  sor,  that  Corporal  Smith's 
lading  us  intirely  wrong,"  said  the  Irishman, 
speaking  again. 

"  Lead  yourself,  then,"  said  the  corporal, gruffly, as 
he  tucked  his  large  ophicleide  beneath  his  arm,  and 
paused  awhile  to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  sir,"  said  another  man  (our 
best  cornet  player),  "  we  had  better  make  a  dash 
for  it ;  I  don't  like  the  look  of  this  at  all.  Will 
you  order  a  retreat  ] " 

"  Why,  what's  wrong  1 "  said  I,  testily,  for  all 
the  time  there  was  a  dizzy  sensation  in  my  head, 
and  the  street  looked  misty  before  my  eyes. 

"  We  are  being  dogged,  sir,  and  no  mistake ; 
and  if  we  take  refuge  in  one  of  these  houses,  we 
shall  perhaps  only  be  burned  out." 

Trying  to  rouse  myself,  I  hurriedly  took  a 
glance  at  our  position.  We  were  evidently  in  one 
of  the  lower  parts  of  the  town ;  and  the  street 
wherein  we  were  was  one  of  the  narrowest  I 
had  seen  since  in  the  country.  Every  here  and 
there  alleys  ran  off  at  right  angles,  but  each 
apparently  ended  in  a  cid-de-sac^  and  to  enter 
one  of  them  might  have  been  like  runifing  into 
a  gin,  from  which  there  was  no  means  of  ex- 
tricating ourselves.  To  make  matters  worse,  too, 
there  was,  at  one  end  of  the  street,  the  glint  of 
arms ;  and  a  moment  after,  four  or  five  Braves 
showed  themselves  for  a  minute,  and  then  dis- 
appeared. 

Fortunately,  the  peril  that  threatened  our 
little  party  seemed  to  clear  my  head  from  the 
misty  sensation  ;  and  I  tried  to  devise  some  plan 
for  immediate  execution. 

"  They  will  come  upon  us  suddenly  from  one  of 
the  narrow  streets,  if  they  mean  to  attack  us,"  I 
thought ;  and,  giving  the  signal  to  my  men,  I 
turned  off  sharply  to  the  right,  and  we  walked 
rapidly  in  a  new  direction,  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  bring  us  to  where  some  of  our  own  men 
were  collected. 

That  we  were  in  danger  I  felt  convinced.  My 
men  knew  it,  too  ;  but  all  the  same,  I  could  hear 
them  joking  together  in  a  light-hearted,  reckless 
fashion. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  one,  "  the  band's  as  good 
as  broken  up,  if  we  don't  get  back.  What  do  you 
say,  Dennis  1 " 

"  Spoiled  intirely,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  and,  bedad, 
I'm  glad  I  haven't  got  to  blow  now,  for  I've  no 
more  wind  left  than  would  put  out  one  of  Widdy 
Flanaghan's  dips,  and  they  were  twenty-four  to 
the  pound.    How  are  you,  corporal  ] " 


"Blown,"  was  the  grufi" reply. 

Then  we  went  on  in  silence  for  a  short  distance, 
but  only  to  stop  short  as  we  tiirned  a  corner,  for 
there  was  a  burst  of  yells  in  the  distance,  and  the 
clajig  of  a  gong,  and  we  became  aware  of  the  fact 
that  about  thirty  Braves  were  in  close  pursuit 
of  a  couple  of  our  men,  who  were  evidently  hard 
pressed. 

"  Come  on  !  "  I  shouted,  with  my  blood  seeming 
to  boil ;  but  long  before  we  could  reach  the  spot 
we  saw  the  two  poor  fellows  overtaken  by  the 
Chinese  soldiers,  and  fall  pierced  with  a  score  of 
spear-wounds. 

"  Come  back,  sir,  quick,  come  back  ! "  exclaimed 
a  voice,  and  the  sword-armed  hand  of  the  stout 
ophicleide-player  was  laid  upon  my  arm.  "  It's 
like  rushing  on  death,  and — here,  quick !  down 
here,"  he  shouted,  hurriedly  ;  "  those  fellows  who 
have  been  dodging  us  are  closing  up." 

A  glance  revealed  our  position  plainly  enough  : 
we  were  between  two  fires ;  and,  darting  down 
a  narrow  lane  close  by,  we  hastily  pursued  its 
windings. 

"  Our  people  must  hear  the  noise  soon,  and  clear 
the  town,"  whispered  the  corporal  to  me,  as  he 
forced  his  arm  under  mine.  "  Hold  up,  sir,  you're 
only  a  bit  weak — that's  the  way.  Now  then,  men, 
keep  close  together  •,  it's  the  only  chance  for  our 
lives." 

The  lane  seemed  as  if  it  would  have  no  end ; 
and  all  the  time  there  were  our  enemies  yelling 
and  shouting  in  full  pursuit.  If  we  were  over- 
taken, we  knew  what  our  fate  must  be — instant 
death,  or  else  some  horrible  torture,  for  in  their 
eyes  we  were  so  many  foreign  devils. 

I  looked  back  twice,  each  time  to  see  the  fierce 
faces  of  the  yelling  mob  panting  in  pursuit,  and 
once  I  grew  giddy  with  dread  ;  but  I  was  pressing 
on  the  next  moment,  my  heart  leaping  with  joy  as 
Corporal  Smith  exclaimed — 

"  Hold  up,  sir,  we'll  stand  by  you  to  a  man ; 
and,  look  !  there's  the  end  of  it  at  last" 

The  end  of  the  lane  was  indeed  there ;  but,  to 
our  horror,  we  saw  that  it  was  blocked  up  by  the 
ruins  of  a  couple  of  houses,  evidently  too  near 
the  wall,  which  had  been  knocked  down  by  our 
boat-guns. 

"  It's  all  up  now,  me  boys,"  said  the  Irishman, 
with  a  howl;  "but  let's  die  game  for  the  honour 
of  the  ould  ridgment.  I'll  give  'em  a  call  though, 
anyhow,"  he  exclaimed,  "  it  may  bring  help  ; "  and 
as  we  faced  round,  he  put  his  cornet  to  his  lips 
and  blew  a  loud  rallying  call ;  and  there,  in  the 
face  even  of  a  horrible  death,  so  great  was  the 
force  of  habit,  that  the  other  five  bandsmen 
involuntarily  raised  their  instruments  to  their 
lips. 

"  Here,  what  a  fool  I  am  !"  roared  Smith,  lower- 
ing his  huge  bell-mouthed  brass  piece  the  next 


224 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


momentj  for  the  Chinamen  were  within  half  a 
dozen  yards,  and  rushing  at  us  with  lowered 
spears.  "  Quick,  my  boys  !  a  man  apiece  first. 
Fire,  sir,  fire  ! " 

I  had  already  taken  aim  at  the  nearest  man 
with  my  revolver,  and  was  in  the  act  of  drawing 
the  trigger,  when,  as  Smith  lowered  the  great 
ophicleide,  the  foremost  Braves  saw  its  huge 
belching  mouth  directed  full  upon  them,  stopped 
short,  yelUng  now  with  horror — turned,  and  in  a 
moment  there  was  a  regular  stampede,  the 
frightened  wretches  trampling  over  one  another 
in  their  hurry  to  escape  from  the  murderous-look- 
ing instrument. 

"  Bedad ! ''  shrieked  Dennis,  "  they're  afraid  of 


ophicleide ;  the  trombone  grunted,  snorted,  an<^ 
cut  and  slashed  in  all  directions,  high  and  low, 
sending  forth  volley  after  volley  of  minims  and 
semibreves  worthy  of  the  pedal  pipes  of  a  large 
organ ;  while  the  other  instruments  brayed, 
roared,  howled,  and  made  such  discords  as  would 
have  sent  a  professor  mad.  But  it  was  not  in 
vain,  for  this  second  discharge  had  the  effect  of 
sending  the  last  tail  flying  round  the  corner,  and 
then  the  place  seemed  once  more  to  swim  round 
me,  and  I  fainted. 

When  I  recovered  it  was  to  find  that  my 
men  had  carried  me  by  some  means  over  the 
ruins,  and  that  a  company  of  another  regiment 
had  just  marched  up. 


'  In  a  moment  theke  was  a  eegulae  stampede." 


the  wind  instruments.  Blow,  me  boys,  blow  ! 
Give  'em  the  big  notes,  corporal :  let  out  at 
'em  Tom,  with  the  thrombone.  Hurray,  then  ! 
Don't  be  afraid.  Let  go  with  the  clarinet,  Tim  : 
that'll  give  'em  the  toothache.  Let  out  at  'em 
again.  Arrah,  if  only  Micky  Blane  was  here  wid 
the  pipes !  " 

I  have  heard  men  when  they  have  been  learn- 
ing to  play,  and  I  have  heard  the  practice  in  the 
band-room  ;  but  never  before,  I  am  confident,  did 
such  a  roaring  bray  issue  from  the  mouths  of 
instruments  of  brass  as  was  now  sent  after  the 
retreating  and  terrified  Braves. 

"  Fire  again,  me  boys  !  "  shouted  Dennis,  as  he 
saw  in  the  distance  some  half-dozen  men  pause,  as 
if  to  see  how  many  had  been  slain  by  the  fearful 
weapon  that  put  them  to  flight.  "  A  big  one  this 
time,  corporal ! " 

Phump  ! — phump ! — phump ! — phump !  went  the 


"  Better,  Grey  1 "  said  the  captain,  kindly. 
"They  tell  me  you've  had  a  narrow  escape.  I 
suppose  there  are  hundreds  of  the  enemy  about  yet. 
I  say,  there,  where  are  you  going,  my  man  1  It's 
not  safe  for  you  to  get  back  there.  Come  down 
at  once ! " 

"Iv  you  plase,  sor,  he's  lift  the  great  gun  on 
the  other  side,"  said  a  voice ;  and  as  I  saw 
the  grinning  face  of  Dennis,  I  recalled  the  whole 
scene. 

"  Back  directly,  sir.  I've  left  my  instrument 
on  the  other  side,"  said  Corporal  Smith,  with  a 
smile. 

The  captain  nodded,  and  after  a  minute's  climb- 
ing, Smith  returned  in  triumph  with  the  great 
brass  piece,  which  became  from  that  day  a  trophy 
in  the  regiment ;  and,  as  I  said  at  the  beginning, 
you  may  laugh,  but  it  is  perfectly  true  ;  and  that 
was  how  it  happened. 


HER   LETTER. 


225 


HER     LETTER. 


[By  Bret  Harte.] 


t 


M  sitting  alcne  by  the  fire, 

Dressed  just  as  I  came  from  the  dance, 
In  a  robe  even  you  would  admire — 

It  cost  a  cool  thousand  in  France  ; 
I'm  be-diamonded  out  of  all  reason, 

My  hair  is  done  up  in  a  cue : 
In  short,  sir,  "  the  belle  of  the  season  " 

Is  wasting  an  hour  on  you. 

A  dozen  engagements  I've  broken  • 
I  left  in  the  midst  of  a  set ; 


If  you  saw  poor  dear  mamma  contrivLig 
To  look  supernaturally  grand — 

If  you  saw  papa's  picture,  as  taken 
By  Brady,  and  tinted  at  that — 

You'd  never  suspect  he  sold  bacon 
And  flour  at  Poverty  Flat. 

And  yet,  just  this  moment,  when  sittini? 

In  the  glare  of  the  grand  chandelier— 
In  the  bustle  and  glitter  befitting 

The  "finest  soiree  of  the  year," 


'  How   I   ONCE   WENT   DOWN  THE   MIDDLE." 


Likewis3  a  proposal,  half  spoken, 
That  waits — on  the  stairs — for  me  yet. 

They  say  he'll  be  rich — when  he  grows  up- 
And  then  he  adores  me  indeed. 

And  you,  sir,  are  turning  your  nose  up, 
Three  thousand  miles  off,  as  you  read. 

"  And  how  do  I  like  my  position  ? " 

"  And  what  do  I  think  of  New  York  1 " 
"  And  now,  in  my  higher  ambition. 

With  whom  do  I  waltz,  flirt,  or  talk  1 " 
"  And  isn't  it  nice  to  have  riches, 

And  diamonds  and  silks  and  all  that  1 " 
"  And  aren't  it  a  change  to  the  ditches 

And  tunnels  of  Poverty  Flat?" 

Well,  yes— if  you  saw  us  out  driving 
Each  day  in  the  park,  four-in-hand — 
2  c 


In  the  mists  of  a  gaze  de  Chamber//, 
And  the  hum  of  the  smallest  of  ta'k — 

Somehow,  Joe,  I  thought  of  the  "  Ferry," 
And  the  dance  that  we  had  on  "  The  Fori: 

Of  Harrison's  barn,  with  its  muster 

Of  flags  festooned  over  the  wall ; 
Of  the  candles  that  shed  their  soft  lustre 

And  tallow  on  head-dress  and  shawl ; 
Of  the  steps  that  we  took  to  one  fiddle  ; 

Of  the  dress  of  my  queer  vis-a-vis  ; 
And  how  I  once  went  down  the  middle 

With  the  man  that  shot  Sandy  McGee  ; 

Of  the  moon  that  was  quietly  sleeping ; 

On  the  h^ll  when  the  time  came  to  go  ; 
Or  the  few  baby  peaks  that  were  peeping 

From  under  their  bedclothes  of  snow  ; 


2l»G 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Of  that  ride — that  to  me  was  the  rarest ; 

Of — the  something  you  said  at  the  gate  ; 
Ah,  Joe,  then  I  wasn't  an  heiress 

To  "  the  best  paying  lead  in  the  State." 

Well,  well,  it's  all  past ;  yet  it's  funny 

To  think,  as  I  stood  in  the  glare 
Of  fashion  and  beauty  and  money. 

That  I  should  be  thinking,  right  there 
Of  some  one  who  breasted  high  water, 

And  swam  the  North  Fork,  and  all  that, 
Just  to  dance  with  old  Folinsbee's  daughter, 

The  lily  of  Poverty  Flat. 

But  goodness  !  what  nonsense  I'm  writing  ! 
(Mamma  says  my  taste  still  is  low) 


Instead  of  my  triumphs  reciting 
I'm  spooning  on  Joseph — heigh-ho  ! 

And  I'm  to  be  "  finished  "  by  travel — 
Whatever's  the  meaning  of  that — 

0,  why  did  papa  strike  pay  gravel 
In  drifting  on  Poverty  Flat  t 

Good  night — here's  the  end  of  my  paper ; 

Good  night — if  the  longitude  please — 
For  maybe,  while  wasting  my  tai)er, 

Your  sun's  climbing  over  tlie  trees. 
But  know,  if  you  haven't  got  riches, 

And  are  poor,  dearest  Joe,  and  all  that. 
That   my   heart's    somewhere  there   in    the 
ditclies, 

And  you've  struck  it — on  Poverty  Flat. 


OTHELLO     EN     AMATEUR. 

[From  "  Harry  Lorrequfar."    By  Charles  Lever.] 


^UCH  was  our  life  in  Cork  :  dining, 
drinking,  dancing,  riding,  steeple- 
chasing,  pigeon-shooting,  and  tandem- 
driving  filling  up  any  little  interval 
that  was  found  to  exist  between  a  late 
breakfast  and  the  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 
And  here  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  accused  of 
a  tendency  to  boasting,  while  I  add  that 
among  all  ranks  and  degrees  of  men,  and  women 
too,  there  never  was  a  regiment  more  highly  in 
estimation  than  the  4 — th.  We  felt  the  full  value 
of  all  the  attentions  we  were  receiving,  and  we 
endeavoured,  as  best  we  might,  to  repay  them.  We 
got  up  Garrison  Balls  and  Garrison  Plays,  and 
usually  performed  once  or  twice  a  week  during  the 
winter.  Here  I  shone  conspicuously.  In  the 
morning  I  was  employed  painting  scenery  and 
arranging  the  properties  ;  as  it  grew  later,  I  re- 
gulated the  lamps  and  looked  after  the  footlights, 
mediating  occasionally  between  angry  litigants, 
whose  jealousies  abound  to  the  fuU  as  much  in 
private  theatricals  as  in  the  regular  cor^ys  drama- 
tique.  Then,  I  was  also  leader  in  the  orchestra, 
and  had  scarcely  given  the  last  scrape  in  the  over- 
ture before  I  was  obliged  to  appear  to  speak  the 
prologue.  Such  are  the  cares  of  greatness.  To  do 
myself  justice,  I  did  not  dislike  them  ;  though,  to 
be  sure,  my  taste  for  the  drama  did  cost  me  a  little 
dear,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  sequel. 

We  were  then  in  the  full  career  of  popularity — 
our  balls  pronounced  the  very  pleasantest,  our 
plays  far  superior  to  any  regular  corps  that  had 
ever  honoured  Cork  with  their  talents — when  an 
event  occurred  which  threw  a  gloom  over  all  our 
proceedings,  and  finally  put  a  stop  to  every  project 


for  amusement  we  had  so  completely  given  our- 
selves up  to.  This  was  no  less  than  the  removal  of 
our  Lieutenant-Colonel.  His  successor  came  under 
circumstances  of  no  common  difficulty  amongst 
us  ;  but  when  I  tell  you  that  our  new  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  was  in  every  respect  his  opposite,  it  may 
be  believed  how  little  cordiality  he  met  with. 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Garden — for  so  I  shall  call 
him,  although  not  his  real  name — had  not  been  a 
month  at  quarters  when  he  proved  himself  a- 
regular  martinet ;  and  we,  who  had  fought  our  way 
from  Albuera  to  Waterloo,  under  some  of  the 
severest  generals  of  division,  were  pronounced  a 
most  disorderly  and  ill-disciplined  regiment  by  a 
Colonel  who  had  never  seen  a  shot  fired  but  at  a 
review  at  Hounslow,  or  at  a  sham-battle  in  the 
Fifteen  Acres.  The  winter  was  now  drawing  to  a 
close — already  some  little  touch  of  spring  was 
appearing — as  our  last  play  for  the  season  was 
announced,  and  every  effort  to  close  with  some 
little  additional  eclat  was  made ;  and  each  per- 
former in  the  expected  piece  was  nerving  himself 
for  an  efibrt  beyond  his  wont.  The  Colonel  had 
most  unequivocally  condemned  these  plays ;  but 
that  mattered  not — they  came  not  within  hisjuris- 
diction — and  we  took  no  notice  of  his  displeasure 
further  than  sending  him  tickets,  which  were  as 
immediately  returned  as  received.  From  being 
the  chief  offender,  I  had  become  particularly 
obnoxious ;  and  he  had  upon  more  than  one 
occasion  expressed  his  desire  for  an  opportunity 
to  visit  me  with  his  vengeance ;  but  being  aware 
of  his  kind  intentions  towards  me,  I  took  par- 
ticular care  to  let  no  such  opportunity  occur. 

On  the  morning  in  question,  then,  I  had  scarcely 


OTHELLO    EN  AMATEUR. 


227 


left  my  quarters  when  one  of  my  brother  officers 
informed  me  that  the  Colonel  had  made  a  great 
uproar,  that  one  of  the  bills  of  the  play  had  been 
put  up  on  his  door— which,  with  his  avowed  dis- 
like to  such  representations,  he  considered  as  in- 
tended to  insTilt  him  ;  he  added,  too,  that  the 
Colonel  attributed  it  to  me.  In  this,  however,  he 
was  wrong— and,  to  this  hour,  I  never  knew  who 
did  it.  I  had  little  time,  and  still  less  inclination, 
to  meditate  upon  the  Colonel's  wrath — the  theatre 
had  all  my  thoughts  !  and  indeed  it  was  a  day  of 
no  common  exertion,  for  our  amusements  were  to 
conclude  with  a  grand  supper  on  the  stage,  to 
which  all  the  elite  of  Cork  were  invited.  Wher- 
ever I  went  through  the  city— and  many  were  my 
peregrinations  —  the  great  placard  of  the  play 
stared  me  in  the  face ;  and  every  gate  and 
shuttered  window  in  Cork  proclaimed  ''  The  part 
OF  'Othello'  by  Mr.  Lorrequer." 

As  evening  drew  near,  my  cares  and  occupations 
were  redoubled.  My  "  lago  "  I  had  fears  for — 'tis 
true  he  was  an  admirable  "  Lord  Grizzle  "  in  "  Tom 
Thumb  " — but  then — then  I  had  to  paint  the  whole 
company,  and  bear  all  their  abuse  besides,  for  not 
making  some  of  the  most  ill-looking  wretches 
perfect  Apollos  ;  but,  last  of  all,  I  was  sent  for  at 
a  quarter  to  seven  to  lace  "  Desdemona's  "  stays. 
Start  not,  gentle  reader,  my  fair  "  Desdemona  " — 
she  "who  might  lie  by  an  emperor's  side,  and  com- 
mand him  tasks  " — was  no  other  than  the  senior 
lieutenant  of  the  regiment,  and  who  was  as  great 
a  votary  of  the  jolly  god  as  honest  "  Cassio  "  him- 
self. But  I  must  hasten  on  ;  I  cannot  delay  to  re- 
count our  successes  in  detail.  Let  it  suffice  to  say 
that,  by  universal  consent,  I  was  preferred  to  Kean  ; 
and  the  only  fault  the  most  critical  observer  could 
find  to  the  representative  of  "  Desdemona,"  was  a 
rather  unladylike  fondness  for  snuflE".  But  whatever 
little  demerits  our  acting  might  have  displayed  were 
speedily  forgotten  in  a  champagne  supper.  There  I 
took  the  head  of  the  table  ;  and,  in  the  costume  of 
the  noble  Moor,  toasted,  made  speeches,  returned 
thanks,  and  sang  songs,  till  I  might  have  exclaimed 
with  Othello  himself,  "  Chaos  is  come  again  !  "  and 
I  believe  I  owe  my  ever  reaching  the  barracks 
that  night  to  the  kind  offices  of  "  Desdemona," 
who  carried  me  the  greater  part  of  the  way  on  her 
bacl^^ 

The  first  waking  thoughts  of  him  who  has 
indulged  over-night  are  not  among  the  most 
blissful  of  existence,  and  certainly  the  pleasure 
is  not  increased  by  the  consciousness  that  he  is 
called  on  to  the  discharge  of  duties  to  which  a 
fevered  pulse  and  throbbing  temples  are  but  ill 
suited.  My  sleep  was  suddenly  broken  in  upon 
the  morning  after  the  play  by  a  "  row-dow-dow  " 
beat  beneath  my  window.  I  jumped  hastily  from 
my  bed  and  looked  out,  and  there,  to  my  horror, 
perceived  the  regiment  under  arms.    It  was  one  of 


our  confounded  Colonel's  morning  drills ;  and  there 
he  stood  himself,  with  the  poor  adjutant,  who  had 
been  up  all, night,  shivering  beside  him.  Some  two 
or  three  of  the  ofiicers  had  descended  ;  and  the 
drum  was  now  summoning  the  others  as  it  beat 
round  the  barrack-square.  I  saw  there  was  not  a 
moment  to  lose,  and  proceeded  to  dress  with  all 
despatch  ;  but,  to  my  misery,  I  discovered  every- 
where nothing  but  theatrical  robes  and  decorations 
— there,  lay  a  splendid  turban  ;  here,  a  pair  of 
buskins — a  spangled  jacket  glittered  on  one  table- 
and  a  jewelled  scimitar  on  the  other.  At  last  I 
detected  my  "regimental  small  clothes,"  most 
ignominiously  thrust  into  a  corner  in  my  ardour 
for  my  Moorish  robes  the  preceding  evening. 

I  dressed  myself  with  the  speed  of  lightning ; 
but  as  I  proceeded  in  my  occupation,  guess  my 
annoyance  to  find  that  the  toilet-table  and  glass, 
ay,  and  even  the  basin-stand,  had  been  removed  to 
the  dressing-room  of  the  theatre  ;  and  my  servant, 
I  suppose,  following  his  master's  example,  was  too 
tipsy  to  remember  to  bring  them  back,  so  that  I 
was  imable  to  procure  the  luxury  of  cold  water — 
for  now  not  a  moment  more  remained,  the  drum 
had  ceased,  and  the  men  had  all  fallen  in.  Hastily 
drawing  on  my  coat,  I  put  on  my  shako,  and 
buckling  on  my  belt  as  dandy-like  as  might  be, 
hurried  down  the  stairs  to  the  barrack-yard.  By 
the  time  I  got  down,  the  men  were  all  drawn  up 
in  line  along  the  square,  while  the  adjutant  was 
proceeding  to  examine  their  accoutrements  as  he 
passed  down.  The  Colonel  and  the  ofiicers  were 
standing  in  a  group,  but  not  conversing.  The 
anger  of  the  commanding  officer  appeared  still  to 
continue,  and  there  was  a  dead  silence  maintained 
on  both  sides.  To  reach  the  spot  where  they  stood 
I  had  to  pass  along  part  of  the  line.  In  doing  so, 
how  shall  I  convey  my  amazement  at  the  faces 
that  met  me  1  A  general  titter  ran  along  the  entire 
rank,  which  not  even  their  fears  for  consequences 
seemed  able  to  repress — for  an  effort  on  the  part 
of  many  to  stifle  the  laugh  only  ended  in  a  still 
louder  burst  of  merriment.  I  looked  to  the  far 
side  of  the  yard  for  an  explanation,  but  there  was 
nothing  there  to  account  for  it.  I  now  crossed 
over  to  where  the  officers  were  standing,  determined 
in  my  own  mind  to  investigate  the  occurrence 
thoroughly,  when  free  from  the  presence  of  the 
Colonel,  to  whom  any  representation  of  ill-conduct 
always  brought  a  punishment  far  exceeding  the 
merits  of  the  case. 

Scarcely  had  I  formed  this  resolve  when  I 
reached  the  group  of  officers ;  but  the  moment  I 
came  near,  one  general  roar  of  laughter  saluted 
me,  the  like  of  which  I  never  before  heard.  I 
looked  down  at  my  costume,  expecting  to  discover 
that,  in  my  hurry  to  dress,  I  had  put  on  some  of 
the  garments  of  "  Othello."  No  :  all  was  perfectly 
correct.     I  waited  for  a  moment  till,  the  first 


228 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


1  urst  of  their  merriment  over,  I  should  obtain  a 
I'ue  to  the  jest.  But  there  seemed  no  prospect  of 
t  .-is,  for,  as  I  stood  patiently  before  them,  their 

i.irth  appeared  to  increase.     Indeed,  poor  G , 

i..e  senior  major,  one  of  the  gravest  men  in  Europe, 
Itiughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks ;  and 
tuch  was  the  effect  upon  me,  that  I  was  induced  to 
laugh  too.  Just  at  this  instant  the  Colonel,  who 
had  been  examining  some  of  the  men,  approached 
our  group,  advancing  with  an  air  of  evident  dis- 
]  leasure,  as  the  shouts  of  loud  laughter  continued. 
As  he  came  up,  I  turned  hastily  round,  and  touch- 
ing my  cap,  wished  him  good  morning.  Never 
sliall  I  forget  the  look  he  gave  me.  If  a  glance 
could  have  annihilated  any  man,  his  would  have 
t  nished  me.  For  a  moment  his  face  became  purple 
with  rage,  his  eye  was  almost  hid  beneath  his  bent 
brow,  and  he  absolutely  shook  with  passion. 

"  Go,  sir,"  said  he  at  length,  as  soon  as  he  was 
able  to  find  utterance  for  his  words — "  Go,  sir,  to 
yt.»ur  quarters  ;  and  before  you  leave  them,  a  court- 
martial  shall  decide  if  such  continued  insult  to 
your  commanding  officer  warrants  your  name  being 
in  the  Army  List." 

'•  What  on  eaith  can  all  this  mean  1 "  I  said  in  a 
half- whisper,  turning  to  the  others.  But  there  they 
stood,  their  handkerchiefs  to  their  mouths,  and 
evidently  choking  with  suppressed  laughter. 

"They're  all  mad,  every  man  of  them,"  I 
muttered,  as  I  betook  myself  slowly  back  to  my 
rooms,  amid  the  same  e^ndences  of  mirth  my  first 
appearance  had  excited — which  even  the  Colonel's 
jiresence,  feared  as  he  was,  could  not  entirely 
subdue. 

With  the  air  of  a  martyr  I  trod  heavily  up  the 
stairs,  and  entered  my  quarters,  meditating  within 
myself  a\\'ful  schemes  for  vengeance  on  the  now 
open  tyranny  of  my  Colonel ;  upon  whom  I  too, 
ui  my  honest  rectitude  of  heart,  vowed  to  have  a 
"court-martial."  I  threw  myself  upon  a  chair, 
and  endeavoured  to  recollect  what  circumstance  of 
the  past  evening  could  have  possibly  suggested  all 
the  mirth  in  which  both  officers  and  men  seemed 
to  participate  equally  ;  but  nothing  could  I  re- 
member capable  of  solving  the  mystery  ;  surely 
the  cruel  wrongs  of  the  manly  "  Othello  "  were  no 
Uughter-moving  subject. 

I  rang  my  bell  hastily  for  my  servant  The  door 
opened. 

"  Stubbes,"  said  I,  "  are  you  aware 1 " 

I  had  only  got  so  far  in  my  question  when  my 
servant  put  on  a  broad  grin,  and  turned  away  to- 
wards the  door  to  hide  his  face. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ] "  said  I,  stamping 
V,  ith  passion ;  "  he  is  as  bad  as  the  rest- 
Stubbes  " — and  this  I  spoke  with  the  most  grave 
and  severe  tone — "what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
insolence  1 " 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  the  man — "  Oh,  sir,  surely  you 


did  not  appear  on  parade  with  that  face  ?  "  And 
then  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  the  most  uncontrollable 
laughter. 

Like  lightning  a  horrid  doubt  shot  across  my 
mind.  I  sprang  over  to  the  dressing-glass,  which 
had  been  replaced,  and  oh  !  horror  of  horrors  ! 
there  I  stood  as  black  as  the  King  of  Ashantee. 
The  wretched  dye  which  I  had  put  on  for 
"Othello,"  I  had  never  washed  off— and  there, 
with  a  huge  bearskin  shako,  and  a  pair  of  dark 
bushy  whiskers,  shone  my  huge,  black,  and  polished 
visage,  glowering  at  itself  in  the  looking-glass. 

My  first  impulse,  after  amazement  had  a  little 
subsided,  was  to  laugh  immoderately;  in  this  I 
was  joined  by  Stubbes,  who,  feeling  that  his  mirtli 
was  participated  in,  gave  full  vent  to  his  risibility. 
And,  indeed,  as  I  stood  before  the  glass,  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear,  I  felt  very  little  surprise  that  my 
joining  in  the  laughter  of  my  brother  officers,  a 
short  time  before,  had  caused  an  increase  of  their 
merriment.  I  threw  myself  upon  a  sofa,  and 
absolutely  laughed  till  my  sides  ached,  when,  the 
door  oi)ening,  the  adjutant  made  his  api)earance. 
He  looked  for  a  moment  at  me,  then  at  Stubbes, 
and  then  burst  out  himself,  as  loud  as  either  of  us. 
When  he  had  at  length  recovered  himself,  he  wiped 
his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  said,  with  a 
tone  of  much  gravity — 

"  But,  niy  dear  Lorrequer,  this  will  be  a  serious 
affair.  You  know  what  kind  of  man  Colonel 
Garden  is  ;  and  you  are  aware,  too,  you  are  not 
one  of  his  prime  favourites.  He  is  firmly  persuaded 
that  you  intended  to  insult  him,  and  nothing  will 
convince  him  to  the  contrary.  We  told  hiui  how 
it  must  have  occurred,  but  he  will  listen  to  no 
explanation." 

I  thought  for  one  second  before  I  replied.  My 
mind,  with  the  practised  rapidity  of  an  old  cam- 
paigner, took  in  all  the  2)ros  and  C07is  of  the  case  ; 
I  saw  at  a  glance  it  were  better  to  brave  the  anger 
of  the  Colonel,  come  in  what  shape  it  might,  than 
be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  mess  for  life,  and  with 
a  face  of  the  greatest  gravity  and  self-possession, 
said — 

"  Well,  adjutant,  the  Colonel  is  right.  It  was  no 
mistake  !  You  know  I  sent  him  tickets  yesterday 
for  the  theatre.  Well,  he  returned  them  ;  this  did 
not  annoy  me  but  on  one  account ;  I  had  made  a 
wager  with  Alderman  GuUable  that  the  Colonel 
should  see  me  in  "  Othello."  What  was  to  be  done  1 
Don't  you  see,  now,  there  was  only  one  course. 
And  I  took  it,  old  lx)y,  and  have  won  my  bet ! " 

"And  lost  your  commission  for  a  dozen  of 
champagne,  I  suppose,"  said  the  adjutant. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  fellow,"  I  replied ;  "  I 
shall  get  out  of  this  scrape,  as  I  have  done  many 
others." 

"  But  what  do  you  intend  doing  1 " 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  I,  "  I  shall,  of  course,  wait 


OTHELLO   EN  AMATEUR. 


229 


on  the  Colonel  immediately,  pretend  to  him  that 
it  was  a  mere  blunder  from  the  inattention  of  my 
servant — hand  over  Stubbes  to  the  powers  that 
punish"  (here  the  poor  fellow  winced  a  little), 
"and  make  my  peace  as  well  as  I  can.  But, 
adjutant,  mind,"  said  I,  "  and  give  the  real  version 
to  all  our  fellows,  and  tell  them  to  make  it  public 
as  much  as  they  please." 

"  Never  fear,"  said  he,  as  he  left  the  room  still 
laughing,  "  they  shall  all  know  the  true  story  ;  but 
I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  were  well  out  of  it." 


regiment,  to  get  out  of  the  continual  jesting, 
and  in  less  than  a  month  we  marched  to  Limerick, 
to  relieve,  as  it  was  reported,  the  9th,  ordered 
for  foreign  service,  but,  in  reality,  only  to 
relieve  Lieutenant-Colonel  Carden,  quizzed  beyond 
endurance. 

However,  if  the  Colonel  had  seemed  to  forgive, 
he  did  not  forget,  for  the  very  second  week  after 
our  arrival  in  Limerick,  I  received  one  morning  at 
my  breakfast-table  the  following  brief  note  from 
the  adjutant : — 


Othello  on  Parade.    (Di-atcn  by  W.  Bahton.) 


I  now  lost  no  time  in  making  my  toilet,  and  pre- 
sented myself  at  the  Colonel's  quarters.  It  is  no 
pleasure  for  me  to  recount  these  passages  in  my 
life,  in  which  I  have  had  to  bear  the  "  proud  man's 
■contumely."  I  shall  therefore  merely  observe  that, 
after  a  very  long  interview,  the  Colonel  accepted 
my  apologies,  and  we  parted. 

Before  a  week  elapsed,  the  story  had  gone  far 
and  near  ;  every  dinner-table  in  Cork  had  laughed 
at  it.  As  for  me,  I  attained  immortal  honour  for 
my  tact  and  courage.  Poor  Gullable  readily 
agreed  to  favour  the  story,  and  gave  us  a  dinner 
as  the  lost  wager ;  and  the  Colonel  was  so 
unmercifully  quizzed  on  the  subject,  and  such  very 
broad  allusions  to  his  being  humbugged  were 
Viven  in  the  Cork  papers,  that  he  was  obliged 
tc  negotiate  a  change  of   quarters  with  another 


"My  dear  Lorrequer,  —  The  Colonel  has 
received  orders  to  despatch  two  companies  to 
some  remote  part  of  the  county  Clare,  and  as  you 
have  '  done  the  state  some  service,'  you  are  selected 
for  the  beautiful  town  of  Kilrush,  where,  to  use 
the  eulogistic  language  of  the  geography  books, 
'  there  is  a  good  harbour,  and  a  market  plentifully 
supplied  with  fish.'  I  have  just  heard  of  the  kind 
intention  in  store  for  you,  and  lose  no  time  in 
letting  you  know. 

"  God  give  you  a  good  deliverance  from  the 
'  fjarqons  hlcincs,^  as  the  Monitexir  calls  the  White- 
boys,  and  believe  me  ever  yours, 

"  Charles  Curzon." 

I  had  scarcely  twice  read  over  the  adjutant's 
epistle    when   I  received  an  official  notification 


230 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


from  the  Colonel,  directing  me  to  proceed  to 
Kilrush,  then  and  there  to  afford  all  aid  and 
assistance  in  suppressing  illicit  distillation,  when 
called  on  for  that  purpose ;  and  other  similar 
duties,  too  agreeable  to  recapitulate.  Alas !  alas  ! 
"  Othello's  occupation "   was  indeed  gone  !    The 


next  morning  at  sunrise  saw  me  on  my  march,  with 
what  appearance  of  gaiety  I  could  muster,  but  in 
reality  very  much  chapfallen  at  my  banishment, 
and  invoking  sundry  things  upon  the  devoted  head 
of  the  Colonel,  which  he  would  by  no  means  con- 
sider as  "  blessings." 


BOYS    WILL    BE    BOYS. 


GLORIOUS  June  day,  and  the  earth 
liright  in  her  new  green  mantle ;  the 
soft  genial  showers  which  fell  from 
time  to  time  only  seemed  to  add  to  its 
lustre.      They  left  no  spots  upon  its 
surface,  but  dashed  off  every  speck  of 
dust  that  wanton  winds  brought  from 
out  the  lanes  in  clouds,  and  left  on  hedge, 
bank,  and  meadow. 

A  bright,  clear  day ;  the  emerald  fields  glis- 
tening with  the  golden  buttercups,  and  banks 
beauteous  with  the  drooping  oxlip  and  late  dog 
violet.  Gardens  disi>laying  their  treasures,  and 
nature  in  her  wild  garden  trying,  and  not  in  vain, 
to  compete  for  the  prize  of  beauty ;  for  every  bank 
and  hedgeside  teemed  with  the  floral  beauties  we 
are  so  indifferent  about,  when,  tliough  minute, 
they  are  as  lovely  as  those  which  deck  our  choicest 
beds. 

The  old  Hall,  buried  amongst  the  trees,  now 
nearly  in  full  leaf,  save  where  at  some  bleak 
summit  the  foliage  was  thin  and  showed  the  dark 
nest  of  a  pair  of  rooks.  E'er  the  home  of  John 
Rouse  seemed  to  be  the  centre  of  a  chorus  from 
the  rookery  above,  where  the  sable-plumed  and 
noisy  vocalists  were  busy  supplying  the  voracious 
demands  of  their  caUow  broods. 

Summer  everywhere,  and  the  birds  so  occupied 
that,  A^-ith  the  exception  of  the  rooks,  there  was  not  a 
note  to  be  heard.  The  finch  in  the  pink-blossomed 
apple-tree  sat  close  to  its  hatching  mate,  as  still 
and  serious  as  it  was  mute,  and  his  example 
seemed  to  be  followed  throughout  the  garden. 

On  the  lawn,  fronting  the  old  red  brick  house, 
busy  manufacturing  a  watch-spring  gun,  sat  Fred 
and  John  Rouse,  deep  in  conversation ;  for,  if 
possible,  on  Saturdays  Fred  always  contrived  to 
accompany  John  Rouse  to  his  home.  John's  dog. 
Tinker — an  ugly,  rough  terrier — lay  lazily  winking 
in  the  warm  sun. 

"There,"  said  John,  at  last,  shutting  up  his 
knife,  "  that's  a  beauty !  "  and  then  he  held  up  his 
watch-spring  gun  for  Fred  to  admire. 

"  So  it  ought  to  be,"  said  Fred  ;  "  why,  it  cost 
threepence.  Wouldn't  old  Snarley  kick  up  a  row 
if  I  were  to  spend  threepence  in  watch-spring  and 
pen  barrels." 

"Oh,  he's    an  old    bone -grinder,"  said  John, 


making  his  gun  click;  "every  one  says  he  puts 
bones  in  the  floiu-." 

"  No,  he  don't,  now,"  said  Fred ;  "  what's  the 
good  of  talking  such  stuff'? — just  as  if  I  didn't 
know.    But  I  can  tell  you  what  he  does  do." 

"Well,  what  r'  said  John. 

"  Oh,  I  sha'n't  tell,  you'd  split,"  said  Fred,  in  a 
mysterioiis  tone. 

"  No,  I  wouldn't.  Do  tell,  there's  a  good  cha]),' 
said  John.  "  Come  now,"  he  exclaimed,  brighten- 
ing up,  "you  tell  me,  and  I'll  lend  you  the  new 
book  ma  bought  for  me  in  London.  It's  such  a 
beauty — all  blue  and  gold,  and  there's  an  out-and- 
out  tale  in  it,  about  a  boy.  I  haven't  read  it  yet, 
but  it  looks  such  a  beauty ;  and  I  can  read  it 
when  you've  done.     Now,  what  does  he  do  1 " 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Fred,  yielding  to  the  tempta- 
tion, and  most  anxious  to  have  the  reading  of 
such  an  "out-and-out"  book— -"well,  then— you 
won't  tell?" 

"  No,"  said  the  other,  repeating  what  was  quite 
equal  to  the  most  solemn  oath — "honour  bright." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Fred,  in  a  half-whisper,  "he 
goes  and —  Who's  that  at  the  window?"  he 
exclaimed,  hurriedly. 

"  Why,  nobody,"  said  John,  "  its  only  the  white 
curtain  fluttering  about.     Go  on." 

"  Well,"  said  Fred,  mysteriously,  "  he  goes  and 
fills  his  pockets  out  of  the  sacks  which  come  to  be 
ground." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  John;  "shouldn't  I 
like  to  shout  at  him  when  he's  at  it !  Wouldn't  lie 
drop  it  again  quickly !  Ma  says  that  people  who 
do  wrong  things  always  feel  frightened." 

"  Now  tell  me  what  the  story's  about,"  said  the 
other. 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  "  there's  lots  of  stories  in  the 
book,  and  I  only  just  peeped  at  them.  One's 
about  a  midshipman  climbing  up  the  rigging  of  a 
ship  until  he  stands  right  on  top  of  the  mast,  and 
then  he  can't  get  down  again.  And  then  his 
father  comes  on  deck,  and  says  he'll  shoot  him  if 
he  don't  jump  right  overboard.  And  so,  as  he 
couldn't  get  down  any  other  way,  he  jumps  right 
off  the  top  of  the  mast  into  the  sea,  and  then  some 
of  the  sailors  jump  overboard  after  him,  and  bring 
him  on  deck.  There,  that's  all  I  know  about  it,  so 
don't  bother  any  more." 


BOYS   WILL   BE   BOYS. 


231 


"Well,  but  that's  an  old  tale,"  said  Fred.  "I 
read  that  ever  so  long  ago  ;  and  I  don't  believe  it. 
Why  couldn't  he  come  down  the  same  way  as  he 
got  up  1 " 

"  Why,  becavise  he  was  standing  right  up,"  said 
John,  "and  there  was  nothing  to  catch  hold  of." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  said  Fred;  "why  didn't  he 
stoop  down,  and  get  hold  of  the  top  with  his 
liands  ?  I  l<;^ow  I  could  have  got  down  easy  enough 
if  I  had  been  there." 

"Oh,  ah,"  said  John,  tauntingly;  "just  as  if  you 
could  climb  at  all." 

"  Climb  better  than  you,"  said  Fred,  shortly. 

"  No,  you  can't,"  said  John. 

"  Yes,  I  can,"  said  Fred. 

"  Why,  you  couldn't  climb  the  elm  and  take  the 
mag's  nest,"  said  John. 

"Yes,  I  could,  if  I  liked,"  said  Fred;  "but  I 
ain't  going  to." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  "  laughed  John.  "I  knew  you 
couldn't.     You're  afraid." 

"No,  Fm  not,"  said  Fred. 

"  Yes,  you  are,"  said  John.  "  Bet  you  a  penny 
you  are." 

"No,  I  sha'n't  bet,"  said  Fred;  "but  I  could 
climb  the  tree,  and  I'm  not  afraid." 

"There's  a  coward,"  said  John,  tauntingly. 
"  Who's  a  brag  now  1 " 

"I'm  not,"  said  Fred,  sturdily,  "and  I'll  soon 
show  you.  Only,  mind,  I  shall  keep  all  the 
mags." 

"Ah,"  said  John,  with  a  grin  on  his  face ;  " but 
you  won't  get  any." 

Unfortunately  the  boys'  conversation  was  not 
heard  by  any  one  but  the  children,  and  they  were 
too  intent  on  their  daisy  chains  to  take  any  notice ; 
so  off  went  the  lads  to  the  home-field,  closely 
followed  by  Tinker,  who  sent  all  his  floral  decora- 
tions flying  at  the  first  bound  he  made— and  he 
made  plenty  of  leaps  and  rushes — till  they  stood 
where  a  large  elm  grew  alone,  towering  to  a  great 
height,  and  in  the  midst  of  whose  crown  of  golden 
green  leaflets  could  be  seen  a  dark  cluster  of  twigs, 
evidently  the  nest  of  a  pair  of  magpies,  and  at 
first  sight  apparently  inaccessible. 

"  There,"  said  John,  when  they  had  reached  the 
tree,  and  evidently  wishing  that  his  companion 
would  not  make  the  dangerous  attempt.  "  There, 
you  know  you  can't  do  it,  so  let's  go  back." 

"  Can't  I !  "  said  Fred.  "  Wait  a  bit,  and  you'll 
see." 

And  as  his  friend  glanced  at  him,  he  could  see 
that  the  lad's  teeth  were  set  firm,  and  that  there 
was  the  same  look  of  obstinate  determination  that 
appeared  on  his  face  on  the  day  of  their  first  fight, 
now  a  year  before  ;  and  this  was  a  look  which 
seemed  to  augur  success. 

He  took  off  his  jacket  and  boots,  and  then, 
soliciting  a  lift-up,  he  got  hold  of  one  of  the 


lowest  boughs,  where  it  drooped  towards  the  earth, 
and  then  climbed  along  it  till  he  reached  the  trunk, 
where  he  stopped  to  rest,  sitting  cross-legged  upon 
the  horizontal  limb  he  had  just  attacked. 

It  was  no  easy  task  that  Fred  Lister  had  cut  out 
for  himself,  for  it  was  one  that  would  have  cowed 
many  a  stouter  heart.  The  old  giant  was  of  the 
most  rugged  kind,  and  the  branches  which  pro- 
jected from  the  parent  trunk  were  large  and  at 
considerable  distances  apart.  However,  the  lad 
knew  well  the  difficulty  of  his  task,  and  like  a 
wary  general  he  sat  watching  for  the  weakest 
point  of  the  tower  he  was  about  to  scale,  and 
recruiting  his  forces  for  the  hard  battle  before 
him. 

A  jeering  laugh  from  the  boy  below,  and  a  short, 
quick  bark  of  excitement  from  the  dog,  roused  the 
climber,  and  with  one  more  glance  upward  he  set 
to  work,  straining,  crawling,  climbing,  and  drawing 
himself  up  foot  by  foot,  until  he  had  reached  the 
great  fork  of  the  tree,  where  the  parent  trunk 
separated  into  five  great  boughs,  each  of  which, 
however,  formed  a  great  tree  of  itself ;  and  here 
again,  fifty  feet  above  the  ground,  Fred  paused  to 
have  another  rest. 

Well  breathed,  he  started  again ;  and  here  it 
was  that  the  difficulties  of  the  ascent  began.  The 
twigs,  small  boughs,  and  excrescences  of  the  great 
trunk  were  at  an  end,  and  there  was  hardly  any- 
thing else  now  but  sheer  climbing,  with  but  little 
hold  for  the  climber's  feet.  Far  up  among  the 
thin  branches,  hidden  amidst  the  leafy  covers 
which  surrounded  it,  hung  the  magpie's  nest ;  and 
after  climbing  a  shorty  distance  Frank  found  that 
his  goal  was  in  the  top  of  the  principal  bough,  and 
that  he  must  descend  a  little  way  again,  for  he  was 
on  the  wrong  one ;  and  he  could  see,  too,  now,  that 
this  bough  towered  far  above  the  others.  And 
now,  seeing  that  a  dangerous  enemy  had  set 
himself  to  scale  the  foi-tress,  the  hen  magpie 
darted  down  from  her  lofty  seat,  giving  utterance 
to  a  shrill  cry,  and  leaving  her  brood  to  the  chances 
of  the  day. 

Fred  descended  again  to  the  fork,  and  then  up 
and  up  he  went,  slowly  and  painfully.  His  hands 
were  bleeding  and  the  skin  was  off  his  legs,  but  he 
felt  that  if  he  stopped  now  it  would  be  his  honour 
that  would  bleed,  which  would  be  far  worse,  and 
not  for  worlds  would  he  have  given  up.  Anon  he 
paused  again ;  for  a  shout  from  John  arrested  him, 
and  then  followed  a  cry  to  come  down. 

"Don't  go  any  higher,  Fred — you'll  fall." 

"No,  I  won't,"  shouted  Fred,  sturdily  ;  though 
in  his  own  mind  he  did  not  feel  very  sure  about 
it. 

But  he  knew  how  unmercifully  he  would  be 
bantered  if  he  gave  up  ;  so  he  toiled,  panting,  hot, 
and  tired,  but  achieving  difficulty  after  difficulty, 
and  only  once  summoning  courage  enough  to  look 


232 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


down,  when  he  shuddered  and  quickly  raised  his 
eyes  again,  for  a  strange,  creeping  sensation  came 
over  him,  and  the  bough  he  was  on  seemed  to  rock 
fearfully,  although  it  was  only  the  steady  swaying 
of  the  tree  in  the  gentle  summer  breeze. 

Higher  and  higher,  till  an  opening  in  the  boughs 
showed  him  the  winding  river,  the  mill,  and,  far 
otf,  the  spire  of  Dunton  Church,  up  which  he  had 
once  been  ;  and  he  recalled  the  sensation  he  had 
felt  upon  that  occasion  as  being  similar  to  the 
tremor  which  now  came  over  him. 

Higher  still,  and  higher,  and  a  horrible  slip — a 
catching  of  the  breath,  and  a  hanging  suspended 
by  the  hands  ninety  feet  above  the  earth.  A  sharp 
struggle,  and  the  lost  place  regained.  Five 
minutes'  rest,  and,  with  renewed  courage,  again 
higher  and  higher — the  tree  swaying  more  and 
more,  and  the  breeze  feeling  brisker,  the  branches 
growing  thinner  and  thinner ;  and  at  last  the 
climber  stopping  to  hesitate  and  think  whether  he 
shall  attempt  to  ascend  farther  ;  but,  testing  each 
bough  before  trusting  it  with  his  weight,  he  still 
mounts  boldly,  and  creeps,  and  draws  himself  up. 


gazing  with  a  half-shuddering  pleasure  at  the- 
beautiful  scene  around. 

Higher  still,  and  higher  ;  and  now  the  eminence 
is  gained,  while  the  bough  sways  and  bends 
terribly  as  he  stands  in  the  fork  just  below  the 
great,  bushy,  arched  nest,  and  waves  one  hand 
while  he  clings  for  dear  life  with  the  other ;  for  he 
is  too  breathless  to  cheer. 

A  loud  hurrah  from  John — a  shout  of  genuine 
pleasure — and  another  bark  from  Tinker,  saluted 
Fred  by  way  of  response  to  his  waving  hand  ;  and 
now  he  set  about  the  rather  difficult  task  of  se- 
curing the  spoil :  no  easy  matter,  when  it  is  taken 
into  consideration  that  a  magpie's  nest  is  a  mass 
of  thorny  twigs  about  a  yard  in  diameter,  and  tbo- 
interior  only  to  be  reached  from  one  side.  How- 
ever, with  legs  tightly  clasi)ing  the  bough  he  was 
on,  Fred  thrust  his  bleeding  hands  into  the  nest,. 
and  seized  two  of  the  strong  and  well-fledged  birds,. 
who  resented  the  intrusion  by  digging  their  beaks 
well  into  the  flesh  of  their  captor.  The  other 
three — for  there  were  five  birds — took  advantage 
of  the  struggle  that  was  going  on  to  escajte  from 
their  aerial  cradle  and  descend,  fluttering,  through 
the  branches — two  to  kill  themselves  in  the  fall, 
and  the  other  to  be  cai)tured  by  Tinker, 

Fred  secured  his  prizes  as  well  as  he  could  by 
tying  their  legs  together  with  his  top-string — rather 
an  arduous  task  in  his  position  ;  and  then,  after  a 
rest,  he  prepared  to  descend.  This,  however, 
proved,  if  anything,  a  more  difficult  task  than  the 
ascent,  for  the  boy  was  tired,  and  his  hands  and 
legs  sore.  More  than  once  his  heart  failed  him  ; 
but  the  thoughts  of  the  victory  he  had  achieved 
kept  back  the  fluttering  of  his  heart,  for  he  was 
growing  miserable  and  weak  with  his  exertions ; 
his  hands,  too,  bled  a  good  deal ;  and  when  he 
made  the  slip  in  ascending  the  tree,  he  had 
strained  one  of  his  shoulders. 

At  length,  after  a  good  deal  of  sliding  and 
scrambling,  in  which  his  clothes  suffered  terribly. 


BOYS   WliJ.    BE   BOYS. 


233 


Fred  was  lialf-way  down  ;  and  then,  in  obedience 
to  a  shout  fiom  John,  he  relieved  himself  of  the 
birds  he  had  suspended  to  his  brace,  by  throwing 
them  down. 

Bvit  the  venturesome  boy  was  not  destined  to 
reach  the  ground  in  safety.  He  had  still  a  con- 
siderable distance  to  descend,  when  he  unfortu- 
nately trusted  his  whole  weight  to  a  rotten  branch. 
There  was  a  sharp  crack,  a  simultaneous  cry  from 
both  lads,  and  then  a  heavy,  rushing  sound,  as, 
falling  from  branch  to  branch,  Fred  lay  at  length, 
stunned  and  motionless,  at  his  companion's  feet. 

John  Rouse  and  Tinker  both  set  to  work 
directly  to  render  all  the  aid  in  their  power. 
John's  first  act  was  to  take  his  friend  by  the 
shoulders  and  shake  him  to  make  him  speak,  and 
it  is  almost  needless  to  say  that  the  remedy  was  not 
productive  of  satisfactory  results  ;  while  Tinker, 
as  if  to  help  his  master,  seized  hold  of  the  leg  of 
the  fallen  lad's  trousers,  and  shook  it  rat  fashion, 
until  be  had  doubled  the  size  of  one  of  the  rents. 
Finding,  however,  that  the  treatment  administered 
was  of  no  service,  John  ran  off  towards  the  Hall, 
shouting  for  help  as  he  went,  and  bringing  the 
Squire  out,  pipe  in  hand,  while  a  bright  brown 
and  yellow  silk  handkerchief  still  fluttered  about 
his  head,  where  it  had  been  placed  for  a  fiy-g-uard 
during  the  afternoon's  snooze. 

"Oh,  papa,  father!"  shouted  John.  Oh,  dear! 
Fred's  killed.  I  know  he  is !  What  shall  1  do  1 
He  has  tumbled  out  of  the  tree  where  the  mag's 
nest  is." 

"  And  what  biisiness  had  you  to — !  But,  hi ! — 
here,  Sam,  Tom !  "  shouted  the  Squire. 

And  oiF  he  trotted,  followed  by  a  couple  of  men, 
to  where  poor  Fred  was  lying  insensible  at  the  foot 
of  the  tree. 

They  carried  him  up  to  the  house,  and  laid  him 
2  D 


tenderly  on  the  sofa ; 

the  S<iuire  all  the  while 

puffing    with    his    exertions,     '  * 

and  muttering  and  grumbling  about  a  pack  of 

young    scamps,   but   losing  no   time  in   sending 

off  one  of  the  men  for  the  doctor ;  while  Mrs. 

Rouse's  time  was   taken  up  between  pacifying 

the  youngsters  and  trying  to  revive  the  insensible 

boy. 

"Oh,  I  know  he's  dead,"  whimpered  John  ; 
"  and  it's  all  my  fault,  for  I  dared  him  to  go  uji. 
And—" 

"  You  dog,"  roared  his  father,  "  how  dared  you  'C 
Why  didn't  you  go  up  yourself,  eh  1  Why  didn't 
you  ? " 

"  Had  we  not  better  send  for  poor  Mrs.  Graves?'' 
said  Mrs.  Rouse. 

"  Certainly  not !  "  said  the  squire.  "What  is  the 
good  of  horrifying  the  poor  woman  if  we  can  pre- 
vent it  1 " 

Mrs.  Rouse  remained  silent,  and  directly  after 
came  the  doctor,  and  soon  relieved  the  family  from 
all  fears  of  fatal  consequences.  Still,  the  fall  had 
been  sufficiently  serious;  for,  in  addition  to  the 
severe  bruises  the  boy  had  received,  the  poor 
fellow's  arm  was  broken.  But  the  doctor  set  to 
work  in  a  business-like  style,  completed  his  first 
inspection,  set  the  arm ;  and  soon  after  Fred  was 
lying  upon  his  friend's  bed,  bandaged  and  faint, 
but  perfectly  sensible. 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  had  left  the  room,  the  lad 
asked  tlie  Sciuire  to  let  John  come  to  him ;  and 
Mrs.  Rouse  went  out  on  the  tips  of  her  toes  to 
fetch  the  boy  herself.  She  soon  returned  with  her 
son,  whose  eyes  looked  quite  red  and  puffy  with 
crying,  and  who  began  to  sob  afresh  as  soon  as  he 
saw  his  schoolfellow's  pale  face  and  bandaged  arm. 
He  went  to  the  bed  and  leaned  over  the  sufferer. 


234 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rouse  stood  aloof  to  watch 
what  would  take  place.  But  no  sooner  did  the 
Squire  hear  the  few  words  which  fell  from  the  lips 
of  the  cripple  than — 

"  Bother  the  boy !  "  he  muttered,  "  worrying  me 
to  death  in  this  way.  Come  down,  mother ;  there's 
nothing  the  matter.  He'll  be  out  again  to- 
morrow." 

Mrs.  Rouse  smiled,  and  followed  her  lord  ;  for 
to  a  certain  extent,  she  could  not  but  endorse  the 


opinion  he  had  expressed,  especially  after  hearing 
Fred's  query.  For  on  John  going  up  to  his  school- 
fellow, Fred  had  forgotten  all  his  pains.  There 
was  no  tender  and  affecting  interview  to  take 
place,  and  no  occasion  for  Mrs.  Rouse,  nor  yet  the 
Squire,  to  have  walked,  with  a  difficulty  of  pre- 
serving equilibrium,  on  the  points  of  their  toes ; 
for  said  Fred,  trying  to  grin  with  his  swelled  and 
puffed  face — 
*'  Jack,  Where's  the  mags  ] " 


rOUE     LONDON     LYRICS. 

[By  Frederick  Locker. J 

MY    MISTRESS'S   BOOTS. 

STie  has  dancing  eyes  and  ruby  lips, 
Delij;^/ui  boots — and  away  she  skips 


'  HEY  nearly  strike  me  dumb,- 
I  tremble  when  they  come 

Pit-a-pat : 
This  palpitation  means 
These  Boots  are  Geraldine's — 
Think  of  that ! 

O,  where  did  hunter  win 
So  delicate  a  skin 

For  her  feet  1 
You  lucky  little  kid, 
You  perish'd,  so  you  did, 

For  my  Sweet 

The  faery  stitching  gleams 
On  the  sides  and  in  the  seams, 

And  reveals 
The  Pixies  were  the  wags 
"VMio  tipt  these  funny  tags. 

And  these  heels. 

What  soles  to  charm  an  elf ! 
Had  Crusoe,  sick  of  self, 

Chanced  to  view 
One  printed  near  the  tide, 
O,  how  hard  he  would  have  tried 

For  the  two ! 


For  Gerry's  debonair, 
And  innocent  and  fair 

As  a  rose  ; 
She  has  flouncing  little  frocks, 
And  cunning  little  clocks 

To  her  hose. 

The  simpletons  who  squeeze 
Their  pretty  toes  to  please 

^landarins. 
Would  ix)sitively  flinch 
From  venturing  to  pinch 

Geraldine's. 

Cinderella's  lefts  and  rights 
To  Geraldine's  were  frights: 

And  I  trow 
The  Damsel,  deftly  shod, 
Has  dutifully  trod 

Until  now. 

Come,  Gerry,  since  it  suits 
Such  a  pretty  Puss  (in  Boots) 

These  to  don. 
Set  this  dainty  hand  awhile 
On  my  shoulder.  Dear,  and  I'll 

Put  them  on. 


MRS.    SMITH. 


Heigh-ho  !  they're  wed.    The  cards  ari  dealt. 

Our  frolic  games  are  o^er; 
Fve  laxighed,  andfooVd,  and  loved.    I'vefeU 

As  1  shall  feel  no  more ! 

Last  year  I  trod  these  fields  with  Di, 
Fields  fresh  with  clover  and  with  rye  ; 

They  now  seem  arid  : 
Then  Di,  was  fair  and  single  ;  how 
Unfair  it  seems  on  me,  for  now 

Di's  fair — and  married  ! 


Ton  little  thatch  is  where  she  lives. 

Yon  spire  is  where  she  met  me  ; 
I  think  that  if  she  quite  forgives. 

She  cannot  quite  forget  me. 

A  blissful  swain— I  scorn'd  the  song 
Which  tells  us  though  young  Love  is  strong, 

The  Fates  are  stronger  ; 
Then  breezes  blew  a  boon  to  men. 
The  buttercups  were  bright,  and  then 

This  grass  was  longer. 


FOUR  LONDON   LYRICS. 


235 


That  day  I  saw  and  much  esteem 'd 

For  answer  I  was  fain  to  sink 

Di's  ankles,  that  the  clover  seem'd 

To  what  we  all  would  say  and  think 

Inclined  to  smother  : 

Were  beauty  present : 

It  twitch'd  and  soon  untied  (for  fun) 

"  Don't  mention  such  a  simple  act — 

The  ribbon  of  her  shoes,  first  one, 

A  trouble  1  not  in  the  least !    In  fact 

And  then  the  other. 

It's  rather  pleasant ! " 

I'm  told  that  Virgins  augur  some 

I  trust  that  Love  will  never  tease 

Misfortune  if  their  shoe-strings  come 

Poor  Kttle  Di,  or  prove  that  he's 

To  grief  on  Friday  : 

A  graceless  rover. 

And  so  did  Di,  and  then  her  pride 

She's  happy  now  as  Mrs.  Smith — 

Decreed  that  shoe-strings  so  untied 

And  less  polite  when  walking  with 

Are  "  so  untidy  ! " 

Her  chosen  lover. 

Of  course  I  knelt ;  with  fingers  deft 

Heigh  ho  !    Although  no  moral  clings 

I  tied  the  right,  and  tied  the  left  : 

To  Di's  blue  eyes,  and  sandal  strings, 

Says  Di,  "  This  stubble 

We've  had  our  quarrels. 

Is  very  stupid  ! — as  I  live 

I  think  that  Smith  is  thought  an  ass, — 

I'm  quite  ashamed !  .  .  .  I'm  shock'd  to  give 

I  know  that  when  they  walk  in  grass 

You  so  much  trouble  ! " 

She  wears  halmorals. 

THE   HOUSEMAID. 


T/ie  poOT*  can  love  through  toil  and  pain. 
Although  their  homely  speech  is  fain 
To  halt  in  fetters : 

Wistful  she  sits — and  yet  resign'd 
She  watches  by  the  window-blind  : 

Poor  Girl.    No  doubt 
The  passers-by  despise  thy  lot : 
Thou  canst  not  stir,  because  'tis  not 

Thy  Sunday  out. 

To  play  a  game  of  hide  and  seek 
With  dust  and  cobweb  all  the  week 

SmaU  pleasure  yields  : 
Oh  dear,  how  nice  it  were  to  drop 
One's  pen  and  ink — one's  pail  and  mop  ; 

And  scour  the  fields. 

Poor  Bodies  few  such  pleasures  know  ; 
Seldom  they  come.     How  soon  they  go  ! 

But  Souls  can  roam ; 
For  lapt  in  visions  airy-sweet, 
She  sees  in  this  unlovely  street 

Her  far-oflf  home. 

The  street  is  now  no  street !   She  pranks 
A  purling  brook  with  thymy  banks. 
In  Fancy's  realm 


They  feel  as  much,  and  do  far  more 
Than  some  of  them  they  how  before, 
Miscall' d  their  betters. 

Yon  post  supports  no  lamp,  aloof 
It  spreads  above  her  parents'  roof, — 
A  gracious  elm. 

A  father's  aid,  a  mother's  care, 
And  life  for  her  was  happy  there  : 

But  here,  in  thrall 
She  sits,  and  dreams,  and  fondly  dreams, 
And  fondly  smiles  on  one  who  seems 

More  dear  than  all. 

Her  dwelling-place  I  can't  disclose  ! 
Suppose  her  fair,  her  name  suppose 

Is  Car,  or  Kitti/  ; 
She  may  be  Jane — she  might  be  plain — 
For  must  the  Subject  of  my  strain 

Be  always  pretty  1 

But  if  her  thought  on  wooing  run 
And  if  her  Sunday-Swain  is  one 

Who's  fond  of  strolling. 
She'd  like  my  nonsense  less  than  his, 
And  so  it's  better  as  it  is^ 

And  that's  consoling. 


THE  CROSSING-SWEEPER. 

AZLA  AND  EMMA. 


A  crossing -sweeper,  black  and  tan. 
Tells  hme  he  came  from  Hindostan, 

My  Wife  was  fair,  she  worshipp'd  me, 

Her  father  was  a  Caradee, 

His  Deity  was  aquatile, 

A  rough  and  tou2;h  old  Crocodile. 


And  why  he  wears  a  hat,  and  shunn'd 
The  Byals  of  the  Pugree  Band. 

To  gratify  this  Monster's  maw 

He  sacrificed  his  Sons-in-law  ; 

We'd  wed — my  tender  Bride  confessing 

To  Husbands  five  already — missing  ! 


:236 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Her  Father,  wlien  he  play'd  his  pranks, 
Proposed  "  a  turn  on  Jumna's  banks  ;  " 
He  spoke  so  kind,  she  seem'd  so  glum, 
I  knew  at  once  when  mine  had  come. 

I  fled  before  his  artful  ruse 
To  cook  my  too-confiding  goose. 
And  now  I  sweep,  in  chill  despair, 
A  Crossing  by  St.  James's  Square  ; 

Some  old  Qui-hy,  or  rural  flat 
^Nlay  drop  a  sixpence  in  my  hat ; 
Yet  still  I  mourn  the  Mango-tree 
Where  Azla  first  grew  fond  of  me. 

These  rogues  who  swear  my  skin  is  tawny 
Would  pawn  their  own  for  brandy-pawny  ; 
What  matter  if  their  skins  are  snoA^-y, 
As  Chloe  fair  !  They're  drunk  as  Chloe  ! 

Your  Town  is  vile.    On  Thames's  stream 
The  Crocodiles  get  up  the  steam  ! 


Your  Juggernauts  their  victims  bump 
From  Camberwell  to  Aldgate  puuip  ! 

A  year  ago,  come  Candlemas, 
I  woo'd  a  plump  Feringliee  lass ; 
United  at  her  idol  fane, 
I  furnish'd  rooms  in  Idol  Lane. 

A  moon  had  waned  when  virtuous  Emma 
Involved  me  in  a  new  dilemma  : 
The  Brahma  faith  that  Emma  scorns 
Impaled  me  tight  on  both  its  horns  : 

She\l  vow\l  to  BURN  if  she  survived  me  ; 
Of  this  sweet  fancy  slie's  deprived  me. 
She's  run  from  all  her  obligations. 
And  gone  to  stay  with  her  Relations. 

My  Azla  weeps  by  Jumna's  deeps, 

But  Emma  mocks  my  trials, 
She  pokes  her  jokes  in  Seven  Oaks 

At  me  in  Seven  Dials, — 
I'm  dash'd  if  these  Feringliee  I'olks 

Aint  rather  worse  than  Ryals.  . 


THE     STORY     OF     LE     FEVEE 


sack. 


[Trom  "  Tristram  Shandy.' 

^^  "  ""  Y  uncle  Toby  was  one  evening  sitting 
at  supper,  when  the  landlord  of  a 
little  inn  in  the  village  came  into 
the  parlour  with  an  empty  phial  in 
his  hand,  to  beg  a  glass  or  two  of 
"  'Tis  for  a  poor  gentleman,  I  think 
of  the  army,"  said  the  landlord,  "  who  has 
been  taken  iU  at  my  house  four  days  ago, 
and  has  never  held  up  his  head  since,  or  had  a 
desire  to  taste  anything  till  just  now,  that  he  has 
a  fancy  for  a  glass  of  sack  and  a  thin  toast ;  '  I 
think,'  says  he,  taking  his  hand  from  his  fore- 
head, *  it  would  comfort  me.'  If  I  could  neither 
beg,  borrow,  nor  buy  such  a  thing,"  added  the 
landlord,  "  I  would  almost  steal  it  for  the  poor 
gentleman,  he  is  so  ill.  I  hope  in  God  he  will  still 
mend,"  continued  he  ;  "  we  are  all  of  us  concerned 
for  him." 

"  Thou  art  a  good-natured  soul,  I  will  answer 
for  thee,"  cried  my  uncle  Toby  ;  "  and  thou  shalt 
drink  the  poor  gentleman's  health  in  a  glass  of 
sack  thyself ;  and  take  a  couple  of  bottles  with 
my  service,  and  tell  him  he  is  heartily  welcome 
to  them,  and  to  a  dozen  more,  if  they  will  do  him 
good." 

"  Though  I  am  persuaded, '  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
as  the  landlord  shut  the  door,  "  he  is  a  very  com- 
pai?sionate  fellow.  Trim,  yet  I  cannot  help  enter- 
taining a  high  opinion  of  his  guest  too  ;  there  must 
■be  something  more  than  common  in  him  that  in  ! 


By  Laurence  Sterne.] 

SO  short  a  time  he  should  win  so  much  upon  the 
affections  of  his  host." 

"  And  of  his  whole  family,"  added  the  corporal ; 
"  for  they  are  all  concerned  for  him." 

"  Step  after  him,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  do. 
Trim,  and  ask  if  he  knows  his  name." 

"  I  have  quite  forgot  it,  truly,"  said  theiandlord, 
coming  back  into  the  parlour  with  the  corporal ; 
"  but  I  can  ask  his  son  again." 

"  He  has  a  son  with  him,  then  ?"  said  my  uncle 
Toby. 

"  A  boy,"  replied  the  landlord,  "  of  about  eleven 
or  twelve  years  of  age ;  but  the  poor  creature  has 
tasted  almost  as  little  as  his  father  ;  he  does  no- 
thing but  mourn  and  lament  for  him  night  and 
day.  He  has  not  stin-ed  from  the  bedside  these 
two  days." 

My  uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
thrust  his  plate  from  before  him,  as  the  landlord 
gave  him  the  account ;  and  Trim,  without  being 
ordered,  took  it  away,  without  saying  one  word, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  brought  him  his  pii)e 
and  tobacco. 

"  Stay  in  the  room  a  little,"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 
"  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  after  he  had  lighted 
his  pipe,  and  smoked  about  a  dozen  whifFs.  Trim 
came  in  front  of  his  master,  and  made  his  bow. 
My  uncle  Toby  proceeded  no  farther,  but  finished 
his  pipe.  "  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  I  have  a 
project  in  my  head,  as  it  is  a  bad  night,  of  wrap- 


THE   STORY   OF   LE   FEVKE. 


237 


ping  myself  up  warm  in  my  roqnelaure,  and  paying 
■a  visit  to  this  poor  gentleman." 

"  Your  honour's  roqnelaure,"  replied  the  corporal, 
■*'  has  not  once  been  had  on  since  the  night  before 
:your  honour  received  your  wound,  when  we 
mounted  guard  in  the  trenches  before  the  gate 
of  St.  Nicholas.  And  besides,  it  is  so  cold  and 
jainy  a  night,  that  what  with  the  ro<iuelaure,  and 


and  I  will  bring  your  honour  a  full  account  in  an 
hour." 

"  Thou  shalt  go,  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby  ; 
"  and  here's  a  shilling  for  thee  to  drink  with  his 
servant." 

"  I  shall  get  it  all  out  of  him,"  said  the  corporal, 
shutting  the  door. 


"'He  shall  march,"  cried  my  UiVcle  tobt."     (Di-aicn  by  W.  Small) 


what  with  the  weather,  'twill  be  enough  to  give 
your  honour  your  death,  and  bring  on  your 
honour's  torment  in  your  groin." 

"I  fear  so,"  replied  my  uncle  Toby  ;  "  but  I  am 
,not  at  rest  in  my  mind,  Trim,  since  the  account 
the  landlord  has  given  me.  I  wish  I  had  not 
known  so  much  of  this  affair,"  added  my  wncle 
Toby,  "or  that  I  had  known  more  of  it.  How 
■ahaJl  we  manage  if?" 

"  Leave  it,  an't  please  your  honour,  to  me,"  quoth 
the  corporal ;  "  I'll  take  my  hat  and  stick,  and  go 
to  the  house,  and  reconnoitre,  and  act  accordingly  ; 


It  was  not  till  my  uncle  Toby  had  knocked  the 
ashes  out  of  his  third  pipe,  that  Corporal  Trim 
returned  from  the  inn,  and  gave  him  the  following 
account : 

"I  despaired  at  first,"  said  the  corporal,  "of 
being  able  to  bring  back  your  honour  any  kind  of 
intelligence  concerning  the  poor  sick  lieutenant." 

"  Is  he  in  the  army  then  ]"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

"  He  is,''  said  the  corporal. 

'■  And  in  what  regiment  1 "  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

"  I'll  tell  your  honour,"  replied  the  corporal 
"  everything  straightforwards  as  I  learned  it." 


238 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  Then,  Trim,  I'll  fill  another  pipe,"  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  "  and  not  interrupt  thee  till  thou  hast  done  ; 
so  sit  down  at  thine  ease,  Trim,  in  the  window-seat, 
and  begin  thy  story  again." 

The  corporal  made  his  old  bow,  which  generally 
spoke  as  plain  as  a  bow  could  speak  it — "Your 
honour  is  good."  And  having  done  that,  he  sat 
down,  as  he  was  ordered,  and  began  the  story  to 
my  uncle  Toby  over  again  in  pretty  near  the  same 
words  : 

"I  despaired  at  first,"  said  the  corporal,  "of 
being  able  to  bring  back  any  intelligence  to  your 
honour  about  the  lieutenant  and  his  son  ;  for  when 
I  asked  where  his  servant  was,  from  whom  I  made 
myself  sure  of  knoA\-ing  everything  which  was 
proper  to  be  asked " 

"  That's  a  right  distinction.  Trim,"  said  my  uncle 
Toby. 

"  I  was  answered,  an't  please  your  honour,  that 
he  had  no  servant  with  him  ;  that  he  had  come  to 
the  inn  with  hired  horses,  which,  upon  finding 
himself  unable  to  proceed  (to  join,  I  suppose,  the 
regim'ent),  he  had  dismissed  the  morning  after  he 
came.  '  If  I  get  better,  my  dear,'  said  he,  as  he 
gave  his  purse  to  his  son  to  pay  the  man,  '  we  can 
hire  horses  from  hence.'  '  But,  alas  !  the  poor 
gentleman  will  never  get  from  hence,'  said  the 
landlady  to  me  ;  '  for  I  heard  the  death-watch  all 
night  long  ;  and  when  he  dies,  the  youth,  his  son, 
will  certainly  die  with  him ;  for  he  is  broken- 
hearted already.' 

"I  was  hearing  this  accoimt,"  continued  the 
coqioral,  "  when  the  youth  came  into  the  kitchen, 
to  order  the  thin  toast  the  landlord  spoke  of.  '  But 
I  wiU  do  it  for  my  father  myself,'  said  the  youth. 
'  Pray  let  me  save  you  the  trouble,  young  gentle- 
man,' said  I,  taking  up  a  fork  for  the  purpose,  and 
ofi'ering  him  my  chair  to  sit  down  upon  by  the  fire 
whilst  I  did  it.  'I  believe,  sir,'  said  he,  very 
modestly,  'I  can  please  him  best  myself.'  'I  am 
sure,'  said  I,  '  his  honour  will  not  like  the  toast  the 
worse  for  being  toasted  by  an  old  soldier.'  The 
youth  took  hold  of  my  hand,  and  instantly  burst 
into  tears." 

"Poor  youth!"  said  my  uncle  Toby;  "he  has 
been  bred  up  from  an  infant  in  the  army ;  and 
the  name  of  a  soldier,  Trim,  sounded  in  his  ears 
like  the  name  of  a  friend  I  wish  I  had  him 
here." 

"I  never,  in  the  longest  march,"  said  the  cor- 
poral, "  had  so  great  a  mind  to  my  dinner,  as  I  had 
to  cry  vnth.  him  for  company.  What  could  be  the 
matter  with  me,  an't  please  your  honour  ]" 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  Trim,"  said  my  uncle 
Toby,  blowing  his  nose ;  "  but  that  thou  art  a 
good-natured  fellow." 

"When  I  gave  him  the  toast,"  continued  the 
corporal,  "  I  thought  it  was  proper  to  tell  him  I  was 
Captain  Shandy's  ser\'ant,  and  that  your  honour, 


though  a  stranger,  Avas  extremely  concerned  for  his 
father ;  and  that,  if  there  was  anything  in  your 
house  or  cellar" — "And  thou  mightst  have  added 
my  purse,  too,"  said  my  uncle  Toby  —  "he  was 
heartily  welcome  to  it.  He  made  a  very  low  bow, 
which  was  meant  to  your  honour  ;  but  no  answer, 
for  his  heart  was  full ;  so  he  went  upstairs  with 
the  toast. 

"  '  I  warrant  you,  my  dear,'  said  I,  as  I  opened 
the  kitchen  door,  '  your  father  will  be  well  again.' 
Mr.  Yorick's  curate  was  smoking  a  pipe  by  the 
kitchen  fire,  but  said  not  a  word,  good  or  bad,  to 
comfort  the  youth.  I  thought  it  wrong,"  added 
the  corporal. 

"  I  think  so,  too,"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

"When  the  lieutenant  had  taken  his  glass  of 
sack  and  toast,  he  felt  himself  a  little  revived,  and 
sent  down  into  the  kitchen  to  let  me  know  that  in 
about  ten  minutes  he  should  be  glad  if  I  would 
step  upstairs. 

"  '  I  believe,'  said  the  landlord, '  he  is  going  to 
say  his  prayers,  for  there  was  a  book  laid  upon  the 
chair  by  his  bedside  ;  and  as  I  shut  the  door  I  saw 
his  son  take  up  a  cushion.' 

"  *  I  thought,'  said  the  curate,  '  that  you  gentle- 
men of  the  army,  Mr.  Trim,  never  said  your 
prayers  at  all." 

"  '  I  heard  the  poor  gentleman  say  his  prayers  last 
night,'  said  the  landlady,  '  very  devoutly,  and  with 
my  own  ears,  or  I  could  not  have  believed  it.' 

"*Are  you  sure  of  itl'  replied  the  curate. 

" '  A  soldier,  an't  please  your  reverence,'  said  I, 
'  prays  as  often  of  his  own  accord  as  a  parson ;  and 
when  he  is  fighting  for  his  king,  and  for  his  own 
life,  and  for  his  honour,  too,  he  has  the  most  reason 
to  pray  to  God  of  any  one  in  the  whole  world.'  " 

"  'Twas  well  said  of  thee.  Trim,"  said  my  uncle 
Toby. 

"  'But  when  a  soldier,'  said  I,  *  an't  please  your 
reverence,  has  been  standing  for  twelve  hours 
together  in  the  trenches  up  to  his  knees  in  cold 
water,  or  engaged,'  said  I,  '  for  months  together  in 
long  and  dangerous  marches ;  harassed,  perhaps, 
in  his  rear  to-day ;  harassing  others  to-morrow ; 
detached  here  ;  countermanded  there ;  resting  this 
night  out  upon  his  arms  ;  beat  up  in  his  shirt  the 
next ;  benumbed  in  his  joints ;  perhaps  without 
straw  in  his  tent  to  kneel  on ;  he  must  say  his 
prayers  how  and  when  he  can.  I  believe,'  said  I, 
for  I  was  piqued,"  quoth  the  corporal,  "for  the 
reputation  of  the  army — '  I  believe,  an't  please  your 
reverence,'  said  I, '  that  when  a  soldier  gets  time  to 
pray,  he  prays  as  heartily  as  a  parson,  though  not 
with  all  his  fun  and  hypocrisy.'" 

"  Thou  shouldst  not  have  said  that.  Trim,"  said 
my  uncle  Toby  ;  "  for  God  only  knows  who  is  a 
hypocrite  and  who  is  not.  At  the  great  and 
general  review  of  us  all,  corporal — at  the  day  of 
judgment  and  not  till  then — it  will  be  seen  who 


THE   STORY   OF   LE    FEVRE. 


239 


have  done  their  duty  in  this  world  and  who  have 
not,  and  we  shall  be  advanced,  Trim,  accordingly." 

"  I  hope  we  shall,"  said  Trim. 

"  It  is  in  the  Scripture,"  said  my  uncle  Toby  ; 
"  and  I  will  show  it  thee  to-morrow.  In  the  mean- 
time, we  may  depend  upon  it,  Trim,  for  our  com- 
fort," said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  that  God  Almighty  is 
so  good  and  just  a  governor  of  the  world,  that  if 
we  have  but  done  our  duty  in  it,  it  will  never  be 
inquired  into  whether  we  have  done  it  in  a  red 
coat  or  a  black  one." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  the  corporal 

"  But  go  on.  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  with 
thy  story." 

"  When  I  went  up,"  continued  the  corporal,  "  into 
the  lieutenant's  room,  which  I  did  not  do  till  the 
expiration  of  the  ten  minutes,  he  was  lying  in  his 
bed  with  his  head  raised  upon  his  hand,  his  elbow 
upon  the  pillow,  and  a  clean  white  cambric  hand- 
kerchief beside  it.  The  youth  was  just  stooping 
down  to  take  up  the  cushion,  upon  which  I  sup- 
posed he  had  been  kneeling ;  the  book  was  laid 
upon  the  bed ;  and,  as  he  arose,  in  taking  up  the 
cushion  with  one  hand,  he  reached  out  his  other  to 
take  it  away  at  the  same  time. 

" '  Let  it  remain  there,  my  dear,'  said  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

"  He  did  not  offer  to  speak  to  me  till  I  had 
walked  up  close  to  his  bedside. 

"  *  If  yol!i  are  Captain  Shandy's  servant,'  said  he, 
'  you  must  present  my  thanks  to  your  master,  with 
my  little  boy's  thanks  along  with  them  for  his 
courtesy  to  me.  If  he  was  of  Leven's,'  said  the 
lieutenant. 

"  I  told  him  your  honour  was. 

" '  Then,'  said  he, '  I  served  three  campaigns  with 
him  in  Flanders,  and  remember  him  ;  but  'tis  most 
likely,  as  I  had  not  the  honour  of  any  acquaintance 
with  him,  that  he  knows  nothing  of  me.  You  will 
tell  him,  however,  that  the  person  his  good  nature 
has  laid  under  obligation  to  him  is  one  Le  Fevre,  a 
lieutenant  in  Angus's.  But  he  knows  me  not,'  said 
he,  a  second  time,  musing.  '  Possibly  he  may  my 
•story,'  added  he.  '  Pray  tell  the  captain  I  was  the 
ensign  at  Breda,  whose  wife  was  most  unfortu- 
nately killed  with  a  miisket-shot  as  she  lay  in  my 
arms  in  my  tent.' 

'"I  remember  the  story,  an't  please  your 
honour,'  said  I, '  very  well.' 

"  '  Do  you  so  1 '  said  he,  wiping  his  eyes  with  his 
handkerchief ;  '  then  well  may  I.' 

"  In  saying  this  he  drew  a  little  ring  out  of  his 
bosom,  which  seemed  tied  with  a  black  riband 
about  his  neck,  and  kissed  it  twice. 

"' Here,  Billy,' said  he. 

"  The  boy  flew  across  the  room  to  the  bedside, 
and,  falling  down  upon  his  knees,  took  the  ring  in 
his  hand,  and  kissed  it  too  ;  then  kissed  his  father, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  bed  and  wept." 


"  I  wish,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
"  I  wish.  Trim,  I  was  asleep." 

"  Your  honour,"  replied  the  corporal,  "  is  too 
much  concerned.  Shall  I  pour  your  honour  out  a 
glass  of  sack  to  your  pipe  1 " 

"  Do,  Trim,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  "  But  finish 
the  story  thou  art  upon." 

"  'Tis  finished  already,"  said  the  corporal ;  "  for 
I  could  stay  no  longer ;  so  wished  his  honour  a 
good  night.  Young  Le  Fevre  rose  from  off  the  bed, 
and  saw  me  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  and,  as  we 
went  down  together,  told  me  they  had  come  from 
Ireland,  and  were  on  their  route  to  join  the  regi- 
ment in  Flanders.  But,  alas  ! "  said  the  corporal, 
"the  lieutenant's  last  day's  march  is  over." 

"  Then  what  is  to  become  of  his  poor  boy  T  cried 
my  uncle  Toby. 

****** 

"Thou  hast  left  this  matter  short,"  said  my 
uncle  Toby  to  the  corporal,  as  he  was  putting  him 
to  bed  ;  "  and  I  will  tell  thee  in  what.  Trim.  In 
the  first  place,  when  thou  madest  an  offer  of  my 
services  to  Le  Fevre — as  sickness  and  travelling 
are  both  expensive,  and  thou  knowest  he  was  but 
a  poor  lieutenant,  with  a  son  to  subsist  as  Avell  as 
himself  out  of  his  pay — that  thou  didst  not  make 
an  offer  to  him  of  my  purse  ;  because,  had  he  stood 
in  need,  thou  knowest.  Trim,  he  had  been  as  wel- 
come to  it  as  myself." 

"  Your  honour  knows,"  said  the  corporal, "  I  had 
no  orders." 

"  True  ! "  quoth  my  uncle  Toby  ;  "  thou  didst 
very  right,  Trim,  as  a  soldier,  but  certainly  very 
wrong  as  a  man.  In  the  second  place,  for  which 
indeed  thou  hast  the  same  excuse,"  continued  my 
uncle  Toby,  "when  thou  offeredst  him  whatever 
was  in  my  house,  thou  shouldst  have  offered  him 
my  house  too.  A  sick  brother  officer  should  have 
the  best  quarters.  Trim  ;  and  if  we  had  him  with 
us,  we  could  tend  and  look  to  him.  Thou  art  an 
excellent  nurse  thyself.  Trim  ;  and  what  with  thy 
care  of  him,  and  the  old  woman's,  and  his  boy's,  and 
mine  together,  we  might  recruit  him  at  once,  and 
set  him  on  his  legs.  In  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks," 
added  my  uncle  Toby,  smiling,  "  he  might  march." 

"  He  will  never  march,  an't  please  your  honour, 
in  this  world,"  said  the  corporal. 

"  He  will  march,"  said  my  uncle  Toby,  rising  up 
from  the  side  of  the  bed,  with  one  shoe  off. 

"An't  please  your  honour,"  said  the  corporal, 
"  he  will  never  march  but  to  his  grave." 

"  He  shall  march,"  cried  my  uncle  Toby,  march- 
ing the  foot  which  had  one  shoe  on,  though  with- 
out advancing  an  inch, — "he  shall  march  to  his 
regiment  ! " 

"  He  cannot  stand  it,"  said  the  corporal. 

"  He  shall  be  supported,"  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

"  He'll  drop  at  last,"  said  the  corporal ;  "  and 
what  will  become  of  his  boy  1 " 


i4U 


GLEANINGS    FROM    POPULAR   AUTHORS 


"He  shall  not  drop,"  said  my  uncle  Toby, 
firmly. 

"  Ah,  well-a-day !  do  what  we  can  for  him,"  said 
Trim,  maintaining  his  point,  "  the  poor  soul  will 
die." 

"  He  shall  not  die,  by ,"  cried  my  uncle 

Toby. 

The  accusing  spii-it,  which  flew  up  to  Heaven's 
chancery  with  the  oath,  blushed  as  he  gave  it  in  ; 
and  the  recoiding  angel,  as  he  wrote  it  down, 
dropped  a  tear  upon  the  word,  and  blotted  it  out 
for  ever. 

My  uncle  Toby  went  to  his  bureau  ;  put  his 
purse  into  his  breeches  pocket ;  and  having 
ordered  the  cor])oral  to  go  early  in  the  morning 
for  a  i»hysician,  he  went  to  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

The  sun  looked  bright  the  morning  after  to  every 
eye  in  the  village  but  Le  Fevre's  and  his  afflicted 
son's.  The  hand  of  Death  pressed  heavy  upon  his 
eyelids,  and  hardly  could  the  wheel  at  the  cistern 
turn  round  its  circle,  when  my  uncle  Toby,  who 
had  I'isen  an  hour  l)efore  his  wonted  time,  entered 
the  lieutenant's  room,  and  without  preface  or 
apology,  sat  himself  down  ui)on  the  chair  by  the 
)>edside ;  and,  independently  of  all  modes  and 
customs,  ojtened  the  curtain  in  the  manner  an  old 
friend  and  brother  officer  would  have  done  it,  and 
asked  him  how  he  did — how  he  had  rested  in  the 
night — what  was  his  complaint — where  was  his 
pain — and  what  he  could  do  to  help  him.    And 


without  giving  him  time  to  answer  any  one  of  the 
inquiries,  he  went  on  and  told  him  of  the  little  plan 
which  he  had  been  concerting  with  the  corporal  the 
night  before  for  him. 

"  You  shall  go  home  directly,  Le  Fevre,"  said  my 
imcle  Toby,  "  to  my  house,  and  we'll  have  an 
apothecary,  and  the  corporal  shall  be  your  nurse, 
and  I'll  be  your  servant,  Le  Fevre." 

There  was  a  frankness  in  my  uncle  Toby — not- 
the  effect  of  familiarity,  but  the  cause  of  it — which 
let  you  at  once  into  his  soul,  and  showed  you  the 
goodness  of  his  nature ;  to  this  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  looks^  and  voice,  and  manner  super- 
added, which  eternally  beckoned  to  the  unfortunate 
to  come  and  take  shelter  under  him  ;  so  that  before 
my  uncle  Toby  had  half  finished  the  kind  off"ers  he 
was  making  to  the  father,  he  had  the  son  insensibly 
pressed  up  close  to  his  knees,  and  had  taken  hold 
of  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  was  pulling  it  towards 
him.  The  blood  and  spirits  of  Le  Fevre,  which 
were  waxing  cold  and  slow  within  him,  and  were 
retreating  to  their  last  citadel,  the  heart,  rallied 
back  ;  the  film  forsook  his  eyes  for  a  moment ;  he 
looked  up  wistfully  in  my  uncle  Toby's  face,  then 
cast  a  look  upon  his  boy  ;  and  that  ligament,  fine 
as  it  was,  was  never  broken.  Nature  instantly 
ebbed  again ;  the  film  returned  to  its  place  ;  the 
pulse  fluttered — stopped — went  on^throbbed — 
stopped  again — moved — stopped  !  Shall  I  go  on  I 
No. 


THE    JACKDAW    OF    EHEIMS.^ 

[an  ingoldsbt  legend.] 


THE  Jackdaw  sat  on  the  Cardinal's  chair  ! 
Bishop  and  abbot  and  prior  were  there  ; 
Many  a  monk,  and  many  a  friar, 
Many  a  knight,  and  many  a  squire. 
With  a  great  many  more  of  lesser  degree,- 
In  sooth  a  goodly  company  ; 


And  they  served  the  Lord  Primate  on  bended 
knee. 

Never  I  ween. 

Was  a  prouder  seen, 
Read  of  in  books,  or  dreamt  of  in  dreams, 
Than  the  Cardinal  Lord  Archbishop  of  Rheims  ! 

In  and  out 

Through  the  motley  rout. 
That  little  Jackdaw  kept  hopping  about ! 

Here  and  there, 

Like  a  dog  in  a  fair, 

Over  comfits  and  cates. 

And  dishes  and  plates. 
Cowl  and  cope,  and  rochet  and  pall, 
Mitre  and  crosier  !  he  liopp'd  upon  all ! 

With  saucy  air. 

He  perch'd  on  the  chair 
W^here,  in  state,  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  sat 
In  the  great  Lord  Cardinal's  great  red  hat ; 

And  he  peer'd  in  the  face 

Of  his  Lordship's  Grace, 


*  Ee-printed  by  permission  of  Messrs.  Bentley. 


THE   JACKDAW    OF   RHEIMS. 


241 


With  a  satisfied  look,  as  if  he  would  say, 

■*'  We  two  are  the  greatest  folks  here  to-day  ! " 

And  the  priests,  with  awe, 

As  such  freaks  they  saw, 
Said,  "  The  devil  must  be  in  that  little  Jackdaw  ! 
The  feast  was  over,  the  board  was  clearVl, 
The  flawns  and  the  custards  had  all  disappeared. 
And  six  little  Singing-boys, — dear  little  souls  I 
In  nice  clean  faces,  and  nice  white  stoles, 

Came,  in  order  due, 

Two  by  two, 
]Marching  that  grand  refectory  through  ! 


Till,  when  nobody's  dreaming  of  any  such  thing. 
That  little  Jackdaw  hops  otf  with  the  ring  ! 
****** 
There's  a  cry  and  a  shout, 
And  a  deuce  of  a  rout, 
And  nobody  seems  to  know  what  they're  about, 
But  the  monks  have  their  pockets  all  turned  inside 
out. 

The  friars  are  kneeling. 
And  hunting,  and  feeling 
The  carpet,  the  floor,  and  the  walls,  and    the 
ceiling. 


"  The  friaes  are  kseelincs,  and  hunting." 


A  nice  little  boy  held  a  golden  ewer, 
Emboss'd  and  hll'd  with  water,  as  pure 
As  any  that  flows  between  Rheims  and  Namur, 
Which  a  nice  little  boy,  stood  ready  to  catch 
In  a  fine  golden  hand- basin  made  to  match. 
Two  nice  little  boys,  rather  more  grown, 
Carried  lavender-water,  and  eau  de  Cologne  ; 
And  a  nice  little  boy  had  a  nice  cake  of  soap. 
Worthy  of  washing  the  hands  of  the  Pope. 

One  little  boy  more 

A  napkin  bore. 
Of  the  best  white  diaper,  fringed  with  pink, 
And  a  Cardinal's  Hat  mark'd  "  in  permanent  ink. 

The  great  Lord  Cardinal  turns  at  the  sight 
Of  these  nice  little  boys  dressed  all  in  white  : 

From  his  finger  he  draws 

His  costly  turquoise ; 
And,  not  thinking  at  all  about  little  Jackdaws, 

Deposits  it  straight 

By  the  side  of  his  plate, 
While  the  nice  little  boys  on  his  Eminence  wait ; 
2  £ 


The  Cardinal  drew 
Off"  each  plum-coloured  shoe, 
And  left  his  red  stockings  exposed  to  the  view  ; 
He  peeps,  and  he  feels 
In  the  toes  and  the  heels  ; 
They  turn    up    the    dishes, — they    turn    up  the 

plates, — 
They  take  up  the  poker  and  poke  out  the  grates, 
— They  turn  up  the  rugs. 
They  examine  the  mugs  : — 
But,  no  ! — no  such  thing  ; — 
They  can't  find  the  ring  ! 
And  the  Abbot    declared  that,   "when    nobody 

twigg'd  it. 
Some  rascal  or  other  had  popp'd  in  and  prigg'd 

it!" 
The  Cardinal  rose  with  a  dignified  look. 
He  call'd  for  his  candle,  his  bell,  and  his  book  ! 
In  holy  anger,  and  pious  grief. 
He  solemnly  cursed  that  rascally  thief  ! 
He  cursed  him  at  board,  he  cursed  him  in  bed ; 
From  the  sole  of  his  foot  to  the  crown  of  his  head; 


242 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


He  cursed  him  in  sleeping,  that  every  night 
He  should  dream  of  the  devil,  and  wake  in  a 

fright ; 
He  cursed  him  in  eating,  he  cursed  him  in 

drinking. 
He  cursed  him  in  coughing,  in  sneezing,  in 

winking  ; 
He  cursed  him  in  sitting,  in  standing,  in  lying  ; 
He  cursed  him  in  walking,  in  riding,  in  flying, 
He  cursed  him  in  liAang,  he  cursed  him    in 
dying  !— 
"Never  was  heard  such  a  terrible  curse  / 
But  what  gfive  rise 
To  no  little  surprise, 
Nobody  seem'd  one  penny  the  worse  ! 

The  day  was  gone, 

The  night  came  on. 
The  Monks  and  the  Friars  they  search'd  till  dawn ; 

When  the  Sacristan  saw, 

On  crumpled  claw. 
Come  limping  a  poor  little  lame  Jackdaw  ! 

No  longer  gay. 

As  on  yesterday  ; 
His  feathers  all  seemed  to  be  turned  the  wrong 

way  ;— 
His  pinions  droop'd — he  could  hardly  stand, — 
His  head  was  as  bald  as  the  palm  of  your  hand  ; 

His  eye  so  dim. 

So  wasted  each  limb. 
That,  heedless  of  grammar,  they  all  cried,  "That's 

HIM  !— 
That's  the  scamp  that  has  done  this  scandalous 

thing ! 
That's  the  thief  that  has  got  my  Lord  Cardinal's 
Ring!" 

The  poor  little  Jackdaw, 

When  the  monks  he  saw. 
Feebly  gave  vent  to  the  ghost  of  a  caw  ; 
And  turn'd  his  bald  head,  as  much  as  to  say, 
**  Pray,  be  so  good  as  to  walk  this  way  ! " 

Slower  and  slower 

He  limp'd  on  before. 
Till  they  came  to  the  back  of  the  belfry  door, 


Where  the  first  thing  they  saw, 

Midst  the  sticks  and  the  straw, 

Was  the  ring  in  the  nest  of  that  little  Jackdaw  ! 

Then  the  great  Lord  Cardinal  call'd  for  his  book. 
And  off  that  terrible  curse  he  took  ; 

The  mute  expression 

Served  in  lieu  of  confession. 
And  being  thus  coupled  with  full  restitution. 
The  Jackdaw  got  plenary  absolution  ! 

— When  those  words  were  heard, 

That  poor  little  bird 
Was  so  changed  in  a  moment,  twas  really  absxird,. 

He  grew  sleek  and  fat ; 

In  addition  to  that, 
A  fresh  crop  of  feathers  came  thick  as  a  mat ! 

His  tail  waggled  more 

Even  than  before  ; 
But  no  longer  it  wagg'd  with  an  impudent  air. 
No  longer  he  perched  on  the  Cardinal's  chair. 

He  hopp'd  now  about. 

With  a  gait  devout ; 
At  Matins,  at  Vespers,  he  never  was  out ; 
And,  so  far  from  any  more  pilfering  deeds. 
He  always  seem'd  telling  the  Confessor's  beads. 
If  any  one  lied, — or  if  any  one  swore, — 
Or  slumber'd   in  pray'r-time  and  happened    to 
snore. 

That  good  Jackdaw 

Would  give  a  great  "  Caw  ! " 
As  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't  do  so  any  more !  " 
While  many  remarked,  as  his  manners  they  saw. 
That  they  "  never    had    known    such    a    pious 
Jackdaw  !" 

He  long  lived  the  pride 

Of  that  country  side, 
And  at  last  in  the  odour  of  sanctity  died ; 

When,  as  words  were  too  faint 

His  merits  to  paint. 
The  Conclave  determined  to  make  him  a  Saint  r 
And  on  newly-made  Saints  and  Popes,  as  you 

know. 
It's  the  custom  at  Rome  new  names  to  bestow. 
So  they  canonised  him  by  the  name  of  Jim  Crow. 


AT  ANCHOB   BEFORE   THE   PACHA.     (Draun  by  W.  BaUton.) 

••  rjIE  TALE  OF  THE  EXSLISII  SAILOW  (><.  2'.S!. 


THE   TALE    OF    THE    ENGLISH   SAILOR. 


243 


THE    TALE    OF    THE    ENGLISH    SAILOE.^ 

[By  Captain  Marrtat.] 


HAVE  an  infidel  in  the  courtyard," 
replied  Mustapha,  "  who  telleth  of 
strange  things.  He  hath  been 
caught  like  a  wild  beast ;  it  is  a 
Frank  Galiongi,  who  hath  travelled 
as  far  as  that  son  of  Shitan,  Huck- 
aback ;  he  was  found  in  the  streets, 
overpowered  by  the  forbidden  juice, 
after  having  beaten  many  of  your  highness's 
subjects  ;  and  the  cadi  would  have  administered 
the  bamboo,  but  he  was  as  a  lion,  and  he  scattered 
the  slaves  as  chaff,  until  he  fell,  and  could  not 
rise  again.  I  have  taken  him  from  the  cadi,  and 
brought  him  here.  He  speaketh  but  the  Frankish 
tongue,  but  the  sun  who  shineth  on  me  knoweth  I 
have  been  in  the  Frank  country,  and  Inshallah  ! 
I  can  interpret  his  meaning." 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  may  he  be,  Mustapha  "i " 
"  He  is  a  baj  baj — a  stout  man  ;  he  is  an  an- 
hunkher,  a  swallower  of  iron.  He  hath  sailed  in 
the  war-vessels  of  the  Franks.  He  holdeth  in  one 
hand  a  bottle  of  the  forbidden  liquor,  in  the  other 
he  shakes  at  those  who  would  examine  Mm  a 
thick  stick.  He  hath  a  large  handful  of  the 
precious  weed  which  we  use  for  our  pipes  in  one 
of  his  cheeks,  and  his  hair  is  hanging  behind  down 
to  his  waist,  in  a  roUed-up  mass,  as  thick  as  the 
arm  of  your  slave." 

"  It  is  well — we  will  admit  him  ;  but  let  there 
be  armed  men  at  hand.  Let  me  have  a  full  pipe. 
God  is  great,"  continued  the  pacha,  holding  out 
his  glass  to  be  filled ;  "  and  the  bottle  is  nearly 
■empty.  Place  the  guards,  and  bring  in  the  infidel." 
The  guards  in  a  few  minutes  brought  into  the 
presence  of  the  pacha  a  stout-built  English  sailor, 
in  the  usual  dress,  and  with  a  tail  which  hung 
down  behind,  below  his  waist.  The  sailor  did 
not  appear  to  like  his  treatment,  and  every  now 
and  then,  as  they  pushed  and  dragged  him  in, 
turned  to  one  side  or  the  other,  looking  daggers 
^t  those  who  conducted  him.  He  was  sober, 
although  his  eyes  bore  testimony  to  recent  intoxi- 
cation ;  and  his  face,  which  was  manly  and  hand- 
some, was  much  disfigured  by  an  enormous  quid 
of  tobacco  in  his  right  cheek,  which  gave  him  an 
appearance  of  natural  deformity.  As  soon  as  he 
was  near  enough  to  the  pacha  the  attendants  let 
him  go.  Jack  shook  his  jacket,  hitched  up  his 
trousers,  and  said,  looking  furiously  at  them, 
^'Well,  you  beggars,  have  you  done  with  me  at 
last?" 

Mustapha    addressed    the    sailor    in    English, 


telling  him  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  his 
highness  the  pacha. 

"  What,  that  old  chap  muffled  up  in  shawls  and 
furs— is  he  the  pacha  ?  Well,  I  don't  think  much 
o'  he  ;  "  and  the  sailor  turned  his  eyes  round  the 
room,  gaping  with  astonishment,  and  perfectly 
unmindful  how  very  near  he  was  to  one  who 
could  cut  off  his  head  or  his  tail  by  a  single  move- 
ment of  his  hand. 

"What  sayeth  the  Frank,  Mustapha?"  inquired 
the  pacha. 

"He  is  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  at  the 
splendour  of  your  majesty,  and  all  that  he 
beholds." 

" It  is  weU  said,  by  Allah!" 

"  I  suppose  I  may  just  as  well  come  to  an 
anchor,"  said  the  sailor,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  and  dropping  down  on  the  mats.  "  There," 
continued  he,  folding  his  legs  in  imitation  of  the 
Turks,  "  as  it's  the  fashion  to  have  a  cross  in  your 
hawse  iii  this  here  country,  I  can  be  a  bit  of  a 
lubber  as  weU  as  yourselves  ;  I  wouldn't  mind  if 
I  blew  a  cloud  as  well  as  you,  old  fusty-musty." 

"  What  does  the  Giaour  say  1  What  son  of  a 
dog  is  this,  to  sit  in  our  presence  1 "  exclaimed  the 
pacha. 

"  He  saith,"  replied  Mustapha,  "that  in  his 
country  no  one  dare  stand  in  the  presence  of  the 
Frankish  king;  and,  overcome  by  his  humility, 
his  legs  refuse  their  ofl&ce,  and  he  sinks  to  the 
dust  before  you.  It  is  even  as  he  sayeth,  for  I 
have  travelled  in  their  country,  and  such  is  the 
custom  of  that  uncivilised  nation.  MashallahJ 
but  he  lives  in  awe  and  trembling. " 

"By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet,  he  does  not 
appear  to  show  it  outwardly,"  replied  the  pacha ; 
"but  that  may  be  the  custom  also." 

"Be  chesm,  on  my  eyes  be  it,"  replied  Mustapha, 
"it  is  even  so.  Frank,"  said  Mustapha,  "the 
pacha  has  sent  for  you  that  he  may  hear  an 
account  of  all  the  wonderful  things  which  you 
have  seen.  You  must  tell  lies,  and  you  will  have 
gold." 

"  Tell  lies  !  that  is,  to  spin  a  yarn ;  well,  I  can 
do  that,  but  my  mouth's  baked  with  thirst,  and 
without  a  drop  of  something  no  yarn  from  me, 
and  so  you  may  tell  the  old  billy-goat  perched 
up  there." 

"  What  sayeth  the  son  of  Shitan  ? "  demanded 
the  pacha,  impatiently. 

"  The  unbeliever  declareth  that  his  tongue  is 
glued  to    his   mouth    from    the   terror  of  yoiir 


*  From  "  The  Pacha  of  Many  Tales."    By  permission  of  Messrs.  George  Eoutledge  and  Sons. 


244 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


highness 's  presenca     He  famteth  after  water  to 
restore  him,  and  enable  him  to  speak." 

"  Let  him  be  fed,"  rejoined  the  paclia. 

But  Mustaplia  had  heard  enough  to  know  that 
the  sailor  would  not  be  content  with  the  pure 
element.  He  therefore  continued,  "Your  slave 
must  tell  you  that  in  the  country  of  the  Franks 
they  drink  nothing  but  the  fire-water,  in  which 
the  true  believers  but  occasionally  venture  to 
indulge." 

"AUah  acbar!  nothing  but  fire-water]  What, 
then,  do  they  do  with  common  water?  " 

"  They  have  none  but  from  heaven — the  rivers 
are  all  of  the  same  strength." 

"  Mashallah,  how  wonderful  is  God  1    I  would 
we  had  a  river  here.    Let 
some  be  procured,  then, 
for  I  wish  to  hear   his 
story." 

A  bottle  of  brandy  was 
sent  for,  and  handed  to 
the  sailor,  who  put  it  to 
his  mouth,  and  the  quan- 
tity he  took  of  it  before 
he  removed  the  bottle  to 
recover  his  breath  fully 
convinced  the  pacha  that 
Mustapha's  assertions 
were  tnie. 

"Come,  that's  not  so 
bad,"  said  the  sailor, 
putting  the  bottle  down 
between  his  legs  ;  "  and 
now  I'll  be  as  good  as  my 
word,  and  I'll  spin  old 
Billy  a  yam  as  long  as  the  maintop-bowling." 

"What  sayeth  the  Giaour?  interrupted  the 
pacha. 

"  That  he  is  about  to  lay  at  your  highness's  feet 
the  wonderful  events  of  his  life,  and  trusts  that  his 
face  will  be  whitened  before  he  quits  your  sublime 
presence.     Frank,  you  may  proceed." 

"  To  lie  till  I'm  black  in  the  face— well,  since 
you  wish  it ;  but,  old  chap,  my  name  ar'n't  Frank. 
It  happens  to  be  Bill ;  howsomever,  it  warn't  a 
bad  guess  for  a  Turk. 

"  I  was  born  at  Shields,  and  bred  to  the  sea, 
served  my  time  out  of  that  port,  and  got  a  berth 
on  board  a  small  vessel  fitted  out  from  Liverpool 
for  the  slave  trade.  We  made  the  coast,  unstowed 
our  beads,  spirits,  and  gunpowder,  and  very  soon 
had  a  cargo  on  board  ;  but  the  day  after  we  sailed 
for  the  Havannah,  the  dysentery  broke  out  among 
the  niggers— no  wonder,  seeing  how  they  were 
stowed,  jKKtr  devils,  head  and  tail,  like  pilchards 
in  a  cask.  We  ope  aed  the  hatches  and  brought 
part  of  them  on  deck ;  but  it  was  no  use,  they  died 
like  rotten  sheep,  and  we  tossed  overboard  about 


thirty  a  day.  Many  others,  who  were  alive,  jumped 
overboard,  and  we  were  followed  by  a  shoal  of 
sharks,  splashing  and  darting,  and  diving,  and  tear- 
ing the  bodies,  yet  warm,  and  revelling  in  the  hot 
and  bloody  water.  At  last  they  were  all  gone,  and 
we  turned  back  to  the  coast  to  get  a  fresh  supply. 
We  were  within  a  day's  sail  of  the  land,  wlien  we 
saw  two  boats  on  our  weather  bow ;  they  made 
signals  to  us,  and  we  found  them  to  be  full  of  men. 
We  hove-to,  and  took  them  on  board,  and  theK  it 
was  that  we  discovered  that  they  had  belonged  to 
a  French  schooner,  in  the  same  trade,  which  had 
started  a  i)lank,  and  had  gone  down  like  a  shot, 
with  all  the  niggers  in  the  hold. 

"  Now  give  the  old  gentleman  the  small  change 
of  that,  while  I  just  whet 
my  whistle." 

Mustapha  having  in- 
terpreted, and  the  sailor 
liaving  taken  a  swig  at 
the  bottle,  he  proceeded. 
"  We  didn't  much  like 
having  these  French  beg- 
gars on  board,  and  it 
wasn't  without  reason^ 
for  they  were  as  many  as. 
we  were.  The  very  first 
night  they  were  over- 
heard by  a  negro  who 
belonged  to  us,  and  had 
learnt  French,  making  a 
plan  for  overpowering  us,, 
and  taking  possession  of 
the  vessel ;  so  when  we 
heard  that,  their  doom 
was  sealed.  We  mustered  ourselves  on  deck,  put 
the  hatches  over  some  o'  the  French,  seized  those 
on  deck,  and — in  half  an  hour,  they  all  walked 
the  plank" 

"  I  do  not  understand  what  you  mean,"  said 
Mustapha. 

"  That's  'cause  you're  a  lubber  of  a  landsman. 
The  long  and  short  of  walking  a  plank  is  just  this. 
We  passed  a  wide  plank  over  the  gunnel,  greasing 
it  well  at  the  outer  end,  led  the  Frenchmen  up  to 
it  blindfolded,  and  wished  them  '  bon  voyage '  in 
their  own  lingo,  just  out  of  politeness.  They  walked 
on  till  they  toppled  into  the  sea,  and  the  sharks, 
didn't  refuse  them,  though  they  prefer  a  nigger  to 
anything  else." 

"  What  does  he  say,  Mustapha  1 "  interrupted  the 
pacha.     Mustapha  interpreted. 

"  Good  !  I  should  like  to  have  seen  that,"  replied 
the  pacha. 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  we  were  rid  of  the  Frenchmen,, 
Ave  made  our  port,  and  soon  had  another  cargo  on 
board,  and,  after  a  good  run,  got  safe  to  the 
Havannah,  where  we  sold  our  slaves ;  but  I  didn't 
much  like  the  service,  so  I  cut  the  schooner,  and 


THE   TALE   OF   THE   ENGLISH   SAILOR. 


245 


sailed  home  in  summer,  and  got  safe  back  to  Eng- 
land. There  I  fell  in  with  Betsy,  and,  as  she 
proved  a  regular  out-and-outer,  I  spliced  her,  and 
a  fanious  wedding  we  had  of  it,  as  long  as  the  rhino 
lasted  ;  but  that  wasn't  long,  more's  the  pity ;  so 
I  went  to  sea  for  more.  When  I  came  back  after 
my  trip  I  found  that  Bet  hadn't  behaved  quite  so 
well  as  she  might  have  done,  so  I  cut  my  stick,  and 
went  away  from  her  altogether." 

"  Why  didn't  you  put  her  in  a  sack  1 "  inquired 
the  pacha,  when  Mustapha  explained. 

"  Put  her  head  in  a  bag — no ;  she  wasn't  so  ugly 
as  all  that,"  replied  the  sailor.  "  Howsomever,  to 
coil  away  :  I  joined  a  privateer  brig,  and  after 
three  cruises  I  had  plenty  of  money,  and  deter- 
mined to  have  another  spell  on  shore,  that  I  might 
get  rid  of  it.  Then  I  picked  up  Sue,  and  spliced 
again ;  but,  bless  your  heart,  she  turned  out 
a  regular-built  Tartar— nothing  but  fight,  fight, 
scratch,  scratch,  all  day  long,  till  I  wished  her  at 
old  Scratch.  I  was  tired  of  her,  and  Sue  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  another  chap ;  so  says  she  one 
day, '  As  we  both  be  of  the  same  mind,  why  don't 
you  sell  me,  and  then  we  may  part  in  a  respectable 
manner.'  I  agrees,  and  I  puts  a  halter  round  her 
neck,  and  leads  her  to  the  market-place,  the  chap 
following  to  buy  her.  '  Who  bids  for  this  woman  1 ' 
says  I. 

" '  I  do,'  says  he. 

"  '  What  will  you  give  1 ' 

" '  Half-a-crown,'  says  he. 

"  '  Will  you  throw  a  glass  of  grog  into  the  bar- 
gain 1 ' 

"  '  Yes,'  says  he. 

" '  Then  she's  yours  ;  and  I  wish  you  much  joy 
of  your  bargain.'  So  I  hands  tlie  rope  to  him,  and 
he  leads  her  off." 

"  How  much  do  you  say  he  sold  his  wife  for  1 " 
said  the  pacha  to  Mustapha,  when  this  part  of  the 
story  was  repeated  to  him. 

"  A  piastre  and  a  drink  of  the  fire-water,"  replied 
the  vizier. 

"  Ask  him  if  she  was  handsome,"  said  the  pacha. 

"  Handsome  ! "  replied  the  sailor,  to  Mustapha's 
inquiry ;  "  yes,  she  was  as  pretty  a  craft  to  look  at 
as  you  may  set  your  eyes  upon." 

****** 

"  Mashallah  !  all  for  a  piastre  !  Ask  him,  Mus- 
tapha, if  there  are  more  wives  to  be  sold  in  that 
country." 

"  More  !  "  replied  the  sailor,  in  answer  to  Mus- 
tapha ;  "  you  may  have  a  shipf ul  in  an  hour. 
There's  many  a  fellow  in  England  who  would  give 
a  handful  of  coin  to  get  rid  of  his  wife." 

"  We  will  make  further  inquiry,  Mustapha ;  it 
must  be  looked  to.    Say  I  not  well '? " 

"  It  is  well  said,"  replied  Mustapha.  "  My  heart 
is  burnt  as  roast  meat  at  the  recollection  of  the 
women  of  that  country,  who  are  indeed,  as  he  de- 


cribed,  houris  to  the  sight.     Proceed,  Yaha  Bibby,. 
my  friend,  and  tell  his " 

"Yaw  Bibby  !  I  told  you  my  name  was  Bill,  not 
Bibby  ;  and  I  never  yaws  from  my  course,  although 
I  heaves-to  sometimes,  as  I  do  now,  to  take  in  pro- 
visions." The  sailor  took  another  swig,  wiped  his 
mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  continued — 
"  Now  for  a  good  lie. 

"  I  sailed  in  a  brig  for  the  Brazils,  and  a  gale 
came  on  that  I  never  see'd  the  like  of.  We  were 
obliged  to  have  three  men  stationed  to  hold  the 
captain's  hair  on  his  head,  and  a  little  boy  was 
blown  over  the  moon,  and  slid  down  by  two  or 
three  of  her  beams,  till  he  caught  the  mainstay, 
and  never  hurt  himself." 

"  Good  ! "  said  Mustapha,  who  interpreted, 

"  By  the  beard  of  the  Prophet,  wonderful ! "  ex- 
claimed the  pacha. 

"Well,  the  gale  lasted  for  a  week,  and  at  last- 
one  night,  when  I  was  at  the  helm,  we  dashed  on 
the  rocks  of  a  desolate  island.  I  was  pitched  right 
over  the  mountains,  and  fell  into  the  sea  on  the 
other  side  of  the  island.  I  swam  on  shore,  and 
got  into  a  cave,  where  I  fell  fast  asleep.  The  next 
morning  I  found  that  there  was  nothing  to  eat 
except  rats,  and  they  were  plentiful ;  but  they  were 
so  quick  that  I  could  not  catch  them.  I  walked 
about,  and  at  last  discovered  a  great  many  rats  to- 
gether ;  they  were  at  a  spring  of  water,  the  only 
one,  as  I  afterwards  found,  on  the  island.  Rats 
can't  do  without  water,  and  I  thought  I  should 
have  them  there.  I  filled  up  the  spring,  all  but  a 
hole,  which  I  sat  on  the  top  of.  When  the  rats 
came  again,  I  filled  my  mouth  with  water,  and  held 
it  wide  open  ;  they  ran  up  to  drink,  and  I  caught 
their  heads  in  my  teeth,  and  thus  I  took  as  many 
as  I  wished." 

"  Aferin,  excellent !  "  cried  the  pacha,  as  soon  as 
this  was  explained. 

"  Well,  at  last  a  vessel  took  me  off,  and  I  wasn't 
sorry  for  it,  for  raw  rats  are  not  very  good  eating. 
I  went  home  again,  and  I  hadn't  been  on  shore 
more  than  two  hours,  when  who  should  I  see  but 
my  first  wife  Bet,  with  a  robin-redbreast  in  tow. 
'  That's  he,'  says  she.  I  gave  fight,  but  was  nabbed 
and  put  into  limbo,  to  be  tried  for  what  they  call 
biggery,  or  having  a  wife  too  much." 

"How  does  he  mean?  Desire  him  to  explain," 
said  the  pacha,  after  Mustapha  had  conveyed  the 
intelligence.     ^lustapha  obeyed. 

"  In  our  country  one  wife  is  considered  a  man's 
allowance  ;  and  he  is  not  to  take  more,  that  every 
Jack  may  have  his  Jill.     I  had  spliced  two,  so  they 
tried  me,  and  sent  me  to  Botany  Bay  for  life." 
**#***** 

"  Well,"  rejoined  the  pacha,  "  what  are  they  but 
infidels  %  They  deserve  to  have  no  more.  Houris 
are  for  the  faithful.  May  their  fathers'  graves  be. 
defiled.    Let  the  Giaour  proceed." 


246 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  Well.  I  was  started  for  the  other  side  of  the 
water,  and  got  there  safe  enough,  as  I  hope  one  day 
to  get  to  heaven,  wind  and  weather  permitting ; 
bnt  I  had  no  idea  of  working  without  pay,  so  one 
fine  morning  I  sUpped  away  into  the  woods,  where 
I  remained  mth  three  or  four  more  for  six  months. 
We  lived  upon  kangaroos,  and  another  odd  little 
animal,  and  got  on  pretty  well." 

"  What  may  the  dish  of  kangaroos  be  composed 
of] "  inqxiired  Mustapha,  in  obedience  to  the 
pacha. 

"  'Posed  of  !  why,  a  dish  of  kangaroos  be  made 
of  kangaroos,  to  be  sura  But  I'll  be  dished  if  I 
talk  about  anything  but  the  animal,  which  we  had 
some  trouble  to  kill ;  for  it  stands  on  its  big  tail, 
and  fights  with  all  four  feet.  ]Moreover,  it  be 
otherwise  a  strange  beast ;  for  its  young  ones  pop 
out  of  its  stomach  and  then  pop  in  again,  having  a 
place  there  on  purpose,  just  like  the  great  hole  in 
the  bow  of  a  timber  ship  :  and  as  for  the  other 
little  animal,  it  swims  in  the  ponds,  lays  eggs,  and 
has  a  duck's  bill,  yet  stiU  it  be  covered  all  over 
with  hair,  like  a  beast." 

The  vizier  interpreted.  "  By  the  Prophet,  but 
he  laughs  at  our  beards  ! "  exclaimed  the  pacha, 
angrily.     "  These  are  foolish  lies." 

"  You  must  not  tell  the  pacha  such  foolish  lies. 
He  wiU  be  angry,"  said  Mustapha.  "  TeU  lies,  but 
they  must  be  good  lies." 

♦        ***♦### 

"  After  I  had  been  there  about  six  months  I  was 
tired,  and  as  there  was  only  twenty  thousand  miles 
between  that  country  and  my  own,  I  determined 
to  swim  back" 

"  Mashallah  !  swim  back ! — ^how  many  thousand 
miles  1 "  exclaimed  Mustapha. 

"  Only  twenty  thousand — a  mere  nothing. 

"  So  one  fine  morning  I  throws  a  young  kangaroo 
on  my  shoulder,  and  off  I  starts.    I  swam  for  three 


months,  night  and  day,  and  then  feeling  a  little 
tired,  I  laid-to  on  my  back,  and  then  I  set  ofi 
again ;  but  by  this  time  I  was  so  covered  with 
barnacles,  that  I  made  but  little  way.  So  I  stopped 
at  Ascension,  scraped  and  cleaned  myself,  and 
then,  after  feeding  for  a  week  on  turtle,  just  to 
keep  the  scurvy  out  of  my  bones,  I  set  off  again  ; 
and,  as  I  passed  the  Gut,  I  thought  I  might  just 
as  well  put  in  here  ;  and  here  I  arrived,  sure 
enough,  yesterday,  about  three  bells  in  the  morning 
watch,  after  a  voyage  of  five  months  and  three  days.'' 

When  Mustapha  translated  all  this  to  the  pacha, 
the  latter  was  lost  in  astonishment.  "  Allah  acbar ; 
God  is  everywhere  !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a 
swimmer  1  Twenty  thousand  miles — five  months 
and  three  days.  It  is  a  wonderful  story  !  Let  his 
mouth  be  filled  with  gold." 

^lustapha  intimated  to  the  sailor  the  unexpected 
compliment  about  to  be  conferred  on  him,  just  as 
he  had  finished  the  bottle  and  roUed  it  away  on 
one  side.  "  Well,  that  be  a  rum  way  of  paying  a 
man.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  a  ieWovf'pxtrsed  up 
his  mouth ;  but  I  never  afore  heard  of  a  mouth 
being  a  2>uf'se.  Howsomever,  all's  one  for  that ; 
only,  d'ye  see,  if  you  are  about  to  stow  it  away  in 
bvdk,  it  may  be  just  as  well  to  get  rid  of  the  dun- 
nage." The  sailor  put  his  thumb  and  forefinger 
into  his  cheek,  and  pulled  out  the  enormous  quid 
of  tobacco.  "  There  now,  I'm  ready,  and  don't  be 
afraid  of  choking  me."  One  of  the  attendants 
then  thrust  several  pieces  of  gold  into  the  sailor's 
mouth,  who,  spitting  them  all  out  into  his  hat, 
jumped  on  his  legs  and  made  a  jerk  of  his  head, 
with  a  kick  of  the  leg  behind,  to  the  pacha ;  and, 
declaring  that  he  was  the  funniest  old  beggar  he 
had  ever  fallen  in  with,  nodded  to  Mustapha,  and 
hastened  out  of  the  divan. 

"  Mashallah  !  but  he  swims  well,"  said  the  pacha, 
breaking  up  the  audience. 


GONE    HOME    ON    NEW    YEAR'S    EYE. 

[By  F.  E.  Weatheelt.] 

"STuT  OME,"  did  you  say,  my  darling?  We  haven't 
W^  got  where  to  go  ! 

^^^      Only  the  dreary  pavement,  only  the  freez- 
ing snow. 
Only  the  hard    cold   stones    against  our  weary 

feet, 
Only    the    flaring    lamplight,    only    the     open 
street  ! 


"Cold,"  did  you  say,  my  darling?    I  know  the 

cloak  is  thin. 
But  I  haven't  got  anything  better  or  warmer  to 

wrap  you  in  ! 


Yet  hug  it  closer  round  you,  though  it  is  so  thin 

and  old. 
And  we'll  go  and  sit  on  this  doorstep,  out  of  the 

bitter  cold! 


We  can  hear  the  loud  bells  ringing  :  I  love  to  hear 

them  so  ! 
They  remind  me  of  one  past  New  Year's  Eve,  only 

a  year  ago ; 
Only  twelve  short,  short  months,  but  they  seem 

like  as  many  years  ; 
Then  my  eyes  shone  brightly,  but  now — they  are 

dull  with  tears. 


GONE   HOME   ON"   NEW   YEAR'S   EVE. 


247 


A  New  Year's  Eve,  my  darling,— the  last  that  I 

was  to  see 
With  my  husband,  round  the  fireside,  and  you  upon 

my  knee ; 
And,  as  the  bells  were  ringing— just  as  it  may  be 

to-night- 
He  talked  of  the  past  and  the  present,  and  all 

looked  cheerful  and  bright. 

He  talked  of  a  soft  spring  morning,  when  first  he 

saw  my  face  : — 
He  was  an  unknown  painter,  and  had  come  to 

stay  in  the  place ; 
And  he  used  to  take  his  painting  out  in  the  sunny 

land — 
It  was  there  that  first  I  met  him,  it  was  there  that 

he  asked  my  hand. 

And  oft  at  eve  in  the  sunlight  by  the  fern-clad 

stile  we  stood 
That  leads  from  the  field  of  clover  into  the  hazel 

wood, 
While    the   thousand  voices  of   labour  came  up 

from  the  village  below, 
And  through  the  leaves  beside  us  we  heard  the 

river  flow. 

And  fondly  he  talked  of  our  marriage,  and  anon 

of  a  happy  mom, 
All  in   the  flowery  summer,  when,  darling,  you 

were  born  ; 
Until  soon  the  candle   flickered,  and  the  falling 

ashes  grew  dim — 
Then  we  slept,  and  through  the  quiet  I  lay  and 

dreamt  of  him. 

Gladly  I  woke  on  the  morrow,  the  first  day  of  the 

year; 
Gladly  I  heard  from  the  village  the  chimes  go  loud 

and  clear  : 
Gladly  I  woke,  and  leant  over  to  kiss  your  sunny 

hair. 
And  I  turned  to  kiss  your  father — I  turned — but 

he  was  not  there. 

Gone !   after  all  his  fondness,  on  the  Old  Year's 

dying  day  ! 
Gone  !    after  all  his  kind  words  !    But  a  letter 

remained  to  say 
That  he  long  had  feared  his  parents  wouldn't  know 

him  for  their  own,^ 
If  they  heard  of  his  humble  marriage — so  he  left 

me  all  alone  ! 

And  the  parish  turned  us  out :  it  wasn't  our  house, 

they  said  : 
Ah  me  !    but  is  it  wicked  to  wish  that  I  were 

dead? 


They  came  and  turned  us  out,  and  we  hadn't  got 

where  to  go, — 
Only  the  dreary  common,  only  the  driving  snow. 

And  all  looked  bleak  and  friendless,  and  I  clasped 

you,  darling,  tight — 
Clasped  you  tight  to  my  bosom,  and  away  in  the 

dark  rough  night, 
Away  from  the  sleeping  village,  along  the  desolate 

road 
We  walked,  until  soon  before  us  the  lights  in 

London  glowed. 

But  the  brightness  seemed  to  mock  us,  and  the 

glare  to  laugh  us  down, 
As  weary  and  faint  with  our  journey  we  entered 

the  noisy  town ; 
And  the  heartless  passers  spurned  us — they  never 

had  known  a  care — 
Oh  God  !    it  is  hard,  my  darling— Oh  God  !   it  is 

hard  to  bear  ! 

And  once  on  an  Autumn  evening,  as  I  was  wander- 
ing by, 

I  stopped  and  looked  in  at  a  window,  I  looked — 
but  I  know  not  why  ; 

And  by  the  cheerful  fireside  I  saw  a  well-known 
face, 

And  another,  a  lovely  maiden,  was  sitting  there  in 
my  place. 

And  my  spirit  yearned  towards  her,  but  could  I 

say  a  word  1 
So  I  bitterly  wept  at  the  window — ^it  was  only  the 

rain  they  heard  : 
My  spirit  yearned  towards  her,  to  tell  her  to  have 

good  care  : 
For  I  said  in  my  anger,  "  The  painter  has  another 

victim  there ! " 

But  1  checked  the  words  of  anger,  I  wouldn't 

darken  their  love. 
If  he  doesn't  care  about  me,  there's  One  who  does 

above  ! 
Yet  still  I  can  see  that  window,  and  the  well-known 

features  there — 
Oh  God  !    it  is  hard,  my  darling — Oh  God  !    it  is 

hard  to  bear  ! 

It  was  only  yesterday  evening  that  they  passed  us 

in  the  street. 
But  he  turned  his  face  to  the  darkness,  not  to  see 

who  lay  at  his  feet, 
Nor  saw  the  sweet  look  of  compassion  that  crossed 

his  wife's  fair  face — • 
Little,  I  trow,  she  fancied  she  held  my  rightful 

place ! 


248 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


I  STOPPED  AND  LOOKED  nf  AT  A  wisDOW."     (Draicn  by  F.  Dicksee,  A.R.A.) 


Xisten  !    the  bells  are  telling  the  Year  is  dying 

slow  : 
It  was  just  like  this  that  I  heard  them  only  a  year 

ago! 
They  sound  like  the  bells  of  our  village,  rolling  up 

from  below  the  hill — 
Why  don't  you  answer,  darling  ]  why  do  you  lie  so 

still  ] 

Why  are  the  blue  eyes  closed  1  Why  are  the  limbs 

so  cold? 
And  yet  on  the  pale  lip  lingers  the  sunny  smile  of 

old- 


[But  while  the  bells  were  ringing  out  thrt)ugh  the 

frosty  air, 
An  angel  had  taken  my  darling  to  Heaven,  to  be 

happy  there  !] 

"Home,"  did  you  say,  my  darling?    Yes,  ijOiiWe 

found  a  home  of  rest, 
Although  your  frail  little  body  hangs  lifeless  on  my 

breast ! 
"  Home,"  did  I  say,  my  darling  1    I  haven't  got 

where  to  go, — 
Only  the  hard,  hard  pavement — only  the  cold,  cold 

snow ! 


MR.    GRAINS'   LAKE. 


249 


ME.     GEAINS'     LAKE. 


\  H,  yes  !  I  know  well  what  observation  my- 
stery is  calculated  to  draw  from  an  un- 
sympathetic reader's  lips  :  "  A  worm  at 

one  end  and  a ,"  in  short,  a  very 

rude  remark.  But  I  am  hardened.  It 
is  my  custom  in  the  autumn,  when  the 
weeds  are  rotting,  to  bring  a  small  skiff 
to  anchor  on  the  shallows  of  the  river 
Thames,  below  locks,  and  fly -fish  for  dace,  and  the 
opinions  of  the  British  public  are  very  freely  con- 
fided to  me  by  perfect  strangers  in  passing  pleasure- 
boats.  Some  of  these  remarks,  which  are  never 
complimentary,  are  addressed  to  me  personally ; 
others,  generally  more  severe,  are  intended  for 
private  circulation  only  ;  but,  in  consequence  of 
water  being  such  a  good  conductor  of  sound,  are 
perfectly  audible,  and  find  a  mark  the  archer  (or 
archeress)  little  meant.  When  ladies  learn 
acoustics,  thin-skinned  anglers  will  be  spared 
much  pain  and  confusion  of  face.  When  young 
and  (comparatively)  beautiful,  a  feminine  relative 
would  occasionally  take  a  sympathetic  seat  in  the 
stern  of  my  boat,  and  then  the  passing  observa- 
tions invariably  assumed  the  form  of  compassion 
for  her.  "  Poor  thing ! "  "  How  dull ! "  said  the 
gay  and  thoughtless  ones,  who  were  seeking  an 
appetite  for  their  Star  and  Garter  dinner  in  the 
fresh  air  of  the  river.  When  my  fair  companion 
happened  to  be  without  the  prohibited  degrees,  I 
confess  that  I  was  sometimes  a  trifle  annoyed  by 
these  misplaced  condolences.  But  all  this  was 
early  in  the  century  ;  youth  is  no  longer  stationed 
at  the  prow  nor  pleasure  at  the  helm  of  my  bark, 
and  the  severest  sarcasms  only  tickle.  You  may 
call  me  what  names  you  like,  therefore,  Avhen  I 
confess  to  being  fond  of  fishing. 

There  is  one  great  drawback  to  this  taste  :  it 
cannot  be  enjoyed  worthily  without  a  great  deal 
of  trouble,  and  trouble  spoils  it.  Other  sports  are 
social,  and  the  preparation  for  them  is  in  itself  a 
pleasure.  But  you  ought  never  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  go  a-fishing  till  the  very  morning.  As  for 
answering  advertisements  in  the  papers,  buying  a 
right  to  fish  in  certain  streams,  making  a  long 
journey,  and  staying  for  week  after  week  at  a  dull 
country  inn  waiting  for  a  favourable  day,  I  had 
sooner  by  far  go  to  Norway  or  North  America  at 
once.  And  so  I  content  myself  with  catching 
dace  or  chub,  which  is  hardly  worth  the  name  of 
fishing  at  all ;  but  still,  "  Better  is  a  bleak  Avithout 
bother  than  a  troublesome  trout,"  is  a  motto  which 
I  present  to  posterity ;  and  there  is  a  touch  of 
proverbial  philosophy  about  it,  look  you,  not  to 
mention  the  alliteration. 
As  for  fishing  in  the  free  trout  streams  of 
2  F 


England  and  Wales,  it  is  a  most  unsatisfactory 
amusement.  If  you  capture  a  trout  at  all,  it  is 
generally  about  the  length  of  your  middle  finger. 
But  on  the  lakes  you  may  have  some  sport  if,  on  a 
windy  day,  when  the  surface  of  the  water  is  rough 
with  wavelets,  you  get  a  boat  to  the  windward  end 
of  your  lake  and  drift  across  it,  throwing  flies, 
tied  by  natives,  and  not  bought  in  shops,  as 
you  go.  I  have  taken  nice  half-pound  trout 
two  at  a  time  in  this  way,  at  a  very  much  fre- 
quented place  in  Wales.  The  difficulty  is  to  get 
your  boat. 

There  is  a  stream  in  Westmoreland  with  very 
few  trout  in  it,  and  those  of  minnow-like  proportions, 
which  is  yet  sometimes  considered  worth  whipping 
by  mischievous  young  tourists  at  one  particular 
part,  about  half  a  mile  in  length.  One  bank  for 
this  distance  is  public  ground,  the  other  the  pro- 
perty of  a  very  cantankerous  old  gentleman,  who 
lays  doubtful  claim  to  the  barren  fishery.  The 
plan  is  to  keep  on  the  free  side  and  flog  away  at 
the  stream,  not  in  hope  of  attracting  trout,  but  of 
getting  a  rise  out  of  the  short-tempered  one.  The 
ruse  never  fails,  for  he  spends  his  life  in  watchful- 
ness, and  always  hurries  down  to  the  waterside  at 
once,  and  proceeds  to  throw  hard  words  at  the 
fisherman  and  stones  at  his  line.  I  believe  that,  if 
you  are  an  amateur  of  vituperation,  you  may  learn 
many  new  and  curious  expletives  and  phrases  by 
disputing  his  right  in  a  calm  and  rational  manner. 
Humanity  dictates,  however,  that  you  should 
leave  v/ithout  informing  him  of  the  sole  object 
of  your  visit ;  for  that,  it  is  said,  nearly  brings  on 
apoplexy. 

I  am  indebted  to  my  friend  Grains  for  the  most 
eccentric  day's  fishing  I  ever  enjoyed.  Grains  is  a 
brewer,  who  determined  some  ten  years*  ago  to 
become  a  landed  proprietor,  and  therefore  pur- 
chased an  estate  in  Suffolk  ;  and  when,  all  being 
ready  for  his  reception,  he  took  possession  with  his 
charming  and  amiable  family,  I  was  invited  to 
accompany  them  on  a  visit. 

It  was  a  beautiful  place.  There  was  a  home  park, 
with  tame  deer  in  it ;  acres  and  acres  of  wood, 
well  stocked  with  pheasants  and  rabbits ;  and  a 
large  pond,  with  swans,  and  an  island,  and  a  Chinese 
summer-house. 

As  our  introduction  to  all  this  took  place  in  July, 
when  there  was  no  shooting  ;  as  the  family  were  as 
yet  totally  unacquainted  with  their  neighbours, 
and  archery  parties,  pic-nics,  and  other  social 
gaieties  were  therefore  in  abeyance ;  and  as  the 
hospitable  Grains  was  anxious  to  amuse  his  guests, 
he  naturally  thought  of  a  fishing  excursion,  and 
sent  for  his  head  keeper. 


250 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  Can  we  have  a  day's  fishing  in  the  lake  to- 
morrow, Williams  ] "  he  asked. 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Williams. 

"  There  is  a  boat,  I  see  ;  is  it  in  good  repair  ? " 

•'Yes,  sir." 

"  That's  all  right.  Then  I  will  give  directions 
for  all  my  tackle  to  be  put  in  your  hands,  and  you 
can  get  everything  ready  for  us." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"  Get  some  worms,  you  know,  and  live  bait,  and 
spinning  bait" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

At  eleven  o'clock  on  the  following  morning,  the 
whole  party,  consisting  of  the  jovial  Grains,  the 
kindly  Mrs.  Grains,  their  three  charming  daughters, 
Fanshawe  of  the  Admiralty  (a  good  fellow,  but 
suflfering  from  Alice  —  the  second  girl  —  on  the 
brain)  and  myself,  went  down  to  the  water-side. 
Grains  and  the  keeper  took  boat,  the  latter  rowing 
slowly  about,  the  former  throwing  a  dead  dace, 
arrayed  in  a  bristling  panoply  of  hooks,  in  all 
directions,  and  drawing  it  in  again  ;  the  rest  of  us 
being  entrusted  with  rods  and  lines  with  enormous 
floats,  and  live  little  fishes  attached  tenderly  to 
tempt  the  jack    But  the  jack  were  superior  to 


temptation.  Lunch  time  came  without  any  one 
having  had  a  ghost  of  a  run,  so  we  desisted  for  a 
while,  and  pic-nicked. 

"  No  use  trying  for  jack  any  more  to-day,  eh, 
Williams  1 "  said  Mr.  Grains. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  then,  shall  we  try  for  a  perch  1 " 

"  If  you  please,  sir." 

So  fresh  tackle  was  distributed,  and  we  dispersed, 
taking  up  various  coigns  of  vantage  about  the 
banks  of  the  lake,  Fanshawe  and  Alice  Grains 
discovering  a  very  likely  spot,  somewhat  secluded, 
and  hidden  in  a  clump  of  trees.  We  baited  with 
worms,  we  baited  with  minnows,  but  with  na 
more  success  than  .we  had  had  during  the  morn- 
ing !  The  afternoon  waned  :  Fanshawe,  indeed, 
secured  Alice,  and  Alice  hooked  Fanshawe, 
that  summer's  day,  but  no  finny  prey  came  to 
bank. 

"  Come,  Williams,"  said  Mr.  Grains,  as  we  pre- 
pared to  go  back  to  the  house,  "  are  there  any  fish 
at  all,  of  any  description  whatever,  in  this  lake  ? " 

"  I  never  heerd  tell  of  any,  sir,"  said  the  imper- 
turbable keeper. 

What  Mr.  Grains  said,  I  did  not  hear. 


"THE    STEANGEST    ADVENTUEE.' 


ES,  I  could  tell  you  plenty  of  stories  like 
that ;  I've  seen  a  few  adventures  in  my 
time." 

"  You  have  indeed ;  but  won't  you  give  me  a  few 
more  1    It's  early  yet." 

We  were  sitting  in  the  half-demolished  summer- 
house  of  a  little  village  inn  on  the  coast  of  Brittany 
— in  all  probability  the  only  wakeful  inhabitants 
of  the  whole  place,  for  sitting  up  till  eleven  p.m. 
is  an  enormity  unknown  in  that  primitive  region. 
My  companion's  stern,  swarthy  face  and  tangled 
black  beard,  seen  beneath  the  uncertain  light  of 
the  rising  moon,  might  have  made  him  appear,  to 
any  person  of  unsteady  nerves,  rather  an  "  un- 
canny "  comrade  for  a  midnight  tete-a-tete  ;  but  in 
spite  of  his  repellant  manner  and  miner-like  rough- 
ness of  speech,  there  was  an  indescribable  so7ne- 
thing  in  his  tone  and  bearing  which  convinced  me 
that,  however  he  might  have  fallen,  or  been  forced 
into  his  present  nondescript  way  of  life,  he  had  (to 
use  the  common  phrase)  "  been  a  gentleman  once." 
This,  however,  was  mere  conjecture  on  my  part ;  for 
in  all  the  marvellous  diorama  of  personal  adventure 
which  he  had  spread  before  me — riotous  revels  in 
Australian  taverns,  succeeded  by  days  of  deadly 
peril  in  Antarctic  seas  ;  fights  with  pirates  in  the 
Straits    of     Malacca,  following   upon    weeks    of 


luxurious  indolence  amid  the  lotus  -  eaters  of 
Brazil ;  sledge-drives  across  Russian  steppes,  and 
bear-hunts  in  American  forests— there  was  not  the 
slightest  hint  at  his  early  life  or  original  station  in 
society.  It  was  at  the  close  of  a  vivid  description 
of  a  hurricane  off  Cape  Horn  that  my  Ulysse.-i 
paused  in  his  narrative,  and  I  now  reiterated  my 
request  for  another  page  from  this  eventful  auto- 
biography. 

"  What !  not  tired  yet  1  It's  not  every  one  that 
could  stand  hearing  a  fellow  talk  so  long  about 
himself." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  I'll  only  ask  you  for  one  more 
— tell  me  the  strangest  adventure  you  ever  had." 

The  wanderer  started  slightly,  and  then  said  in 
an  altered  voice  :  "  You've  made  a  better  bargain 
than  you  think  for  ;  I  will  tell  you  the  strangest 
of  all,  and  let  us  see  how  you  like  it.  I  don't 
ask  you  to  believe  it,  because  I  know  that 
when  you  put  these  sort  of  things  into  books 
people  laugh,  and  talk  of  Baron  Munchausen  and 
all  that.  I've  read  the  Baron,"  he  went  on, 
noticing  my  look  of  surprise,  "  and  many  another 
book  that  you'd  never  give  me  credit  for  ;  but  in  a 
book  this  story  I  am  going  to  tell  you  would  be  im- 
possible ;  and  it 's  just  because  it  seems  impossible 
that  it  is  true." 


"THE   STRANGEST   ADVENTURE." 


251 


"  You  remember  how  those  two  fellows  robbed 
my  tent,  and  how  I  fired  all  the  six  barrels  of  my 
revolver  into  them  1  Well,  it  was  just  after  that 
job  that  I  shifted  my  tent  away  from  the  rest, 
-thinking  I'd  be  more  comfortable  by  myself  for  a 
bit.  You'll  say  this  was  rather  venturesome,  after 
I'd  been  robbed  once  already ;  but  then,  you  see, 
these  beauties  that  I  fired  at  thought  they'd  fairly 
■cleaned  me  out.  Nobody  knew  that  I'd  got  a  lot 
more  buried  under  a  big  gum-tree  some  two 
hundred  yards  off ;  so  the  whole  camp  thought  I 
was  dry,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  did  not  undeceive 
them.  Well,  I  moved  my  tent  up  to  the  tree 
where  the  gold  was,  and  there  I  stayed ;  but  I 
still  stuck  to  my  digging,  to  make  up  for  what  I'd 
lost.  I  got  a  middling  lot  of  dust  every  day,  but 
I  took  care  to  let  nobody  see  more  of  it  than  I 
could  help ;  so  folks  got  to  think  I  was  down  on 
my  luck,  and  left  off  minding  about  me  at  all 

"  One  night  I'd  been  working  pretty  late,  and 
got  chilled  right  through  ;  and,  though  I  rolled 
my  blanket  well  round  me  after  turning  into  my 
hammock,  I  couldn't  get  warm  anyhow  ;  and  so  I 
shivered  away  till  I  fell  asleep.  Then  I  fell  to 
dreaming  that  I  was  in  a  trance,  like  some  man 
I  once  read  about  in  America,  and  that  they 
thought  me  dead,  and  were  going  to  bury  me.  I 
tried  my  hardest  to  move,  or  scream  out,  or  some- 
thing, but  no  good  ;  and  I  heard  the  coffin-lid  slap 
to,  and  the  first  spadeful  of  earth  fall  on  it,  and 
then  I  awoke. 

"  It  was  a  fine  bright  morning,  and  through  the 
opening  of  the  tent  1  could  see  the  sun  shining,  and 
hear  the  picks  and  cradles  getting  to  work  as 
usual.  But  my  dream  wasn't  all  fancy,  for  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  bound  down,  and  couldn't  move  an 
inch  ;  and  yet  it  wasn't  quite  that  either — it  was 
more  as  if  I  had  no  substance  left,  but  was  all  air 
and  shadow.  If  ever  a  living  man  felt  like  a 
ghost,  I  did  then. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  think  of  being  frightened  just  at 
first ;  I  felt  more  put  out  and  foolish,  like  a  man 
who's  had  a  tumble,  or  got  splashed  all  over  by  a 
cart.  It  seemed  so  queer  for  a  great  strong  fellow 
like  me,  to  be  laid  by  the  heels  that  way,  and  at 
first  the  thought  of  it  almost  made  me  laugh  ;  so 
there  I  lay  like  a  log  for  ever  so  long,  listening  to 
all  the  noises  from  the  camp,  till  at  last  (about 
noon  it  must  have  been,  by  the  sun)  I  began  to 
feel  hungry,  and  commenced  looking  very  hard  at 
my  '  damper '  and  cold  mutton,  which  lay  upon  a 
log  t'  other  side  of  the  tent.  '  Well,'  thought  I, 
'it's  a  queer  thing  for  a  man  to  be  starved  this 
way,  with  food  before  his  eyes  I '  But  the  moment 
I  thought  it,  something  cold  seemed  to  clutch  my 
heart  and  squeeze  it  all  together.  I  tried  to  put  it 
away  by  saying  to  myself,  '  This'U  go  off  soon— of 
course  it  will ;'  but  at  that  minute  it  flashed  across 
me,  as  if  some  one  had  written  it  in  letters  of  fire 


aU  over  the  place,  '  And  supposing  it  doesn't  go  off 

— WHAT  THEN  V 

"  It  was  then  I  began  to  feel  frightened  for  the 
first  time.  I  turned  sick  all  at  once,  as  if  I  were 
going  to  die,  and  likely  enough  I  may  have  fainted, 
for  the  next  thing  I  remember,  there  was  a  great 
silence  all  over  the  camp  ;  and  by  that  I  knew  that 
the  men  were  having  their  dinner,  and  that  it 
must  be  late  in  the  afternoon.  As  night  came  on, 
I  began  to  feel  very  bad  every  way.  So  long  as 
the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  sound  of  the  picking 
and  shovelling  went  on,  the  light,  and  the  noise, 
and  the  feeling  of  having  lots  of  people  close  to 
me,  kept  me  up  a  bit ;  but  when  the  sounds  died 
away  little  by  little,  and  the  darkness  came  aU 
round  as  if  it  were  locking  me  in,  I  felt  as  cast- 
down  and  helpless  as  a  child  lost  in  a  great  town. 
However,  my  hunger  made  me  savage-like,  and 
that  held  me  up ;  for  so  long  as  there's  strength 
enough  for  anger  in  a  man,  he's  got  a  chance  ;  it's 
when  he  can't  feel  savage  that  his  heart's  broken. 
Only  I  kept  always  wishing  that  something  would 
break  the  silence  :  and  at  last  something  did,  with 
a  vengeance,  for  a  lot  of  the  horrible  dingoes 
commenced  howling.  And  so  they  kept  on,  and 
worked  me  up  till  I  felt  as  if  I'd  give  anything  to 
have  just  one  blow  at  them,  no  matter  what  came 
after ;  for  what  with  the  hunger,  and  the  lying 
still  so  long,  and  the  howling  of  these  brutes,  I'd 
got  so  mad,  that  I'd  have  liked  to  kill  something,  no 
matter  what  it  was.  And  so  the  night  wore  away 
— a  dreary  night  for  me  !  " 

While  he  was  speaking,  the  moon  had  become 
gi'adually  obscured,  and  we  were  wrapped  in  a 
shadowy  dimness  that  harmonised  well  with  the 
gloomy  recital,  to  which  the  deepening  sombreness 
of  his  tone  lent  additional  horror. 

"  The  sun  rose  at  last,  but  it  brought  no  bright 
morning  hope  with  it ;  only  the  same  weary  help- 
lessness, which  seemed  as  if  it  had  lasted  for  days 
and  days — for  I  had  lost  all  count  of  time.  When 
the  noise  of  the  diggings  began  again,  I  almost 
wished  it  would  leave  off,  much  as  I  had  wished 
for  it  before  ;  for  it  sent  a  kind  of  horror  through 
me  to  think  of  the  hundreds  of  men  so  near,  any 
one  of  whom  would  have  nin  like  lightning  to  help 
me,  if  he'd  only  known  of  the  scrape  I  was  in — 
while  I  lay  dumb  and  dying  close  by.  Ay,  dying! 
it  was  no  use  shamming  hopeful  any  longer  ;  for 
noAv  I  began  to  feel  a  gnawing  and  tugging  in  my 
inside,  as  if  the  teeth  of  a  wolf  were  tearing  it ; 
and  I  knew  what  that  meant,  for  I'd  felt  it  before, 
only  not  so  bad.  I  wouldn't  have  minded  so  much 
if  I  could  only  have  screamed,  or  flung  myself 
about,  or  anything  to  show  Avhat  I  felt ;  but  to  lie 
there  stock-still  and  speechless,  it  was  horrible." 

A  shudder,  which  I  could  see  in  the  uncertain 
light,  shook  his  strong  frame  as  he  proceeded. 

"As  the  sun  grew  hotter,  the  flies  began  to 


25: 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


swanu  ;  and  as  I  watched  tliem,  it  struck  me  all 
of  a  sudden,  what  a  way  I  should  be  in,  supposing 
they  attacked  me  ;  for,  as  I  was  then,  they  might 
have  sucked  every  drop  of  my  blood  before  I 
could  have  stirred  a  finger.  I  knew  something  of 
what  Australian  bush-flies  could  do,  for  I'd  once 
stumbled  on  the  body  of  a  shepherd  who  had 
been  tied  to  a  tree  by  the  bushrangers,  and  left. 
However,  luckily  for  me,  there  was  something  else 
in  the  tent  that  tem])ted  them  more,  and  that  was 
the  food  I'd  left  lying  on  the  log.  In  a  second  they 
were  down  on  it  :  all  the  meat  turned  black  at 
once,  as  if  with  a  shower  of  soot,  and  their  buzzing 
was  like  the  wind  blowing  through  a  row  of  wires. 
You'd  laiigh  at  me,  stranger,  if  I  were  to  tell  you 


'  And  never  a  man  and  never  a  beast 

They  met  on  their  desohite  way  ; 
But  the  bleaching  bones  in  the  hungry  sand 

Said  all  that  a  tongue  could  say.' 

And  so  it  kept  going  over  and  over,  till  at  last  I 
fairly  went  off"— half  slept  and  half  fainted. 

"  It  was  late  when  I  awoke,  and  I  can't  tell  you 
how  I  felt  at  seeing  the  sun  setting  again.  As  the 
light  faded,  I  felt  as  if  my  life  was  going  out  along 
with  it,  and  when  it  dipped  below  the  horizon  I 
was  ready  to  start  up  and  stretch  out  my  arms  and 
hold  it  back,  if  I'd  had  the  strength.  And  such  a 
night  as  that  second  night  was,  good  Heaven  I 
There's  a  verse  somewhere  in  the  Bible  that 
sj^eaks  of  '  a  horror  of  great  darkness  ;'  I  learned 


LOOKISG  EIGHT  DOWN  INTO  JIT   FACE." 


how  savage  that  sight  made  me ;  for  of  course  you'll 
say  I  ought  to  have  been  mighty  glad  to  get  off"  so 
cheap ;  but,  oh  I  to  see  those  flies  gorging  them- 
selves before  my  eyes,  while  I,  a  man,  lay  starving  ! 
I  tell  you,  all  that  I  felt  before  was  nothing  to  it  I 
"Towards  afternoon,  there  began  a  kind  of 
whispering  and  humming  in  my  ears,  getting  louder 
bit  by  bit.  It  wasn't  the  flies,  for  they  were  all 
gone  ;  it  was  what  comes  to  one  on  the  second  or 
third  day  of  starving  to  death,  and  I  knew  it. 
Some  of  my  mates  that  were  starved  up  country 
used  to  keep  putting  their  hands  to  their  ears  for 
a  while  before  they  died,  saj-ing  they  heard  some- 
thing whispering  to  them.  It  got  stronger  and 
stronger,  till  the  sound  seemed  to  shape  itself  into 
an  old  song  that  a  man  I  was  with  in  Brazil  kept 
crooning  over  just  before  he  died.  The  song  was 
all  about  a  party  going  across  the  desert  to  look  for 
some  men  that  were  lost ;  but  the  verse  that  rang 
in  my  head  then  was  this  : 


it  at  school,  but  I  never  knew  what  it  really  meant 
till  then.  This  time  there  was  no  howling  of  dingoes,, 
no  noise  of  any  sort ;  all  was  deadly  still,  as  if  the 
world  itself,  with  all  that  lived  and  breathed  in  it, 
were  dead,  and  I  alone  kept  living — living  on.  I 
suppose  I  must  have  been  getting  light-headed 
with  hunger  and  weakness,  for  I  began  to  fancy  all 
sorts  of  queer  things.  First  I  thought  I  was  nailed 
down  in  a  coflSn,  and  that  if  I  could  only  move,  or 
scream,  or  even  speak,  the  lid  would  fly  open  ;  but 
I  couldn't  Then  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  and  the  weight  of  water  above 
pressed  me  down  till  I  could  hardly  breathe.  All 
at  once  I  was  startled  out  of  my  fancies  by  a  sound 
close  to  the  tent,  the  like  of  which  I  never  heard 
before  or  since— a  low  moaning  cry,  that  sounded 
like  '  All  alone  !  all  alone  ! '  over  and  over  again. 
I  can't  tell  to  this  day  whether  I  really  heard  it,  or 
only  fancied  it ;  but  at  the  time  it  gave  me  such  a 
horror  that  I  nearly  went  mad. 


PHCEBE'S   SUITOR. 


253 


'•  The  third  moruing  came,  and  found  me  nearly 
at  my  last.  The  gnawing  pain  was  gone,  and  in- 
stead of  it  had  come  a  pleasant  drowsiness,  like 
what  a  man  feels  when  he  falls  down  to  sleep  in 
the  snow.  All  the  morning  I  lay  in  a  kind  of 
dream,  thinking  of  nothing,  fearing  nothing— as 
quiet  as  a  child  at  its  mother's  breast ;  till  all  at 
once  I  saw  something  that  roused  me  in  good 
earnest — a  black  shining  thing,  like  a  long  strip  of 
velvet,  coming  gliding  into  the  tent.  I  knew  it 
directly  for  one  of  the  deadliest  snakes  in  Australia. 
The  next  moment  I  heard  the  rustle  of  its  coils  up 
the  tent  pole  to  which  my  hammock  was  slung,  and 
then  I  saw  its  flat  head  and  black  beady  eyes 
hanging  over  me,  and  looking  right  down  into  my 
face  to  see  if  I  were  dead  or  not.  I  suppose  it 
thought  I  was,  for  the  next  minute  it  slid  down 
over  my  face,  and  to  and  fro  along  the  hammock, 
till  at  last  it  went  to  the  other  pole,  and  there  it 
glided  off,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  it.  Anybody 
watching  me  then  would  have  called  me  a  brave 
fellow  ;  but  I  daresay  it's  not  the  first  time  that  a 
man  has  been  thought  brave  because  he  couldn't 
run  away. 

"  I  don't  know  how  long  it  was  after  that — it 
may  have  been  an  hour,  or  a  day,  or  a  week,  for 
all  I  could  tell — that  a  shadow  fell  across  my  face, 
and  I  heard  a  voice  calling  out, '  Holloa,  mate !  can 
you  give  us  a  firestick  1  I've  let  my  fire  out  ! ' 
With  the  sound  of  that  voice  all  my  love  of  life 


came  back  again,  and  I  gathered  up  my  strength  to 
try  and  speak. 

"  Seeing  me  lying  there  so  white  and  still,  the 
fellow  must  have  thought  me  dead;  and  for  a 
moment — the  bitterest  moment  I  ever  had  —  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  turn  and  go  out  again ; 
but,  although  I  couldn't  speak,  I  managed  just  to 
move  my  eyelids,  and  he  saw  it.  He  said  nothing, 
but  raised  my  head  on  his  arm  and  took  out  his 
flask  to  pour  some  rum  into  my  mouth  ;  and  then 
I  knew  that  I  was  saved,  and  with  the  shoek  of 
the  reaction  I  fainted  in  right  earnest." 

Here  my  strange  companion  suddenly  ceased, 
and,  rising  from  his  chair,  said  to  me,  "  You've 
had  your  story,  stranger,  and  now  I'm  going  to  bid 
you  good  night ;  for  I  haven't  spoke  of  this  busi- 
ness since  it  befell,  and  it  rather  upsets  me  thinking 
of  it.  You  tell  me  you  're  off  early  to-morrow 
morning,  so  it's  a  hundred  to  one  if  we  ever  meet 
again  ;  but  in  any  case  I  wish  you  success  in  your 
travels,  and  may  you  end  better  than  /  have 
done  ! " 

Then  grasping  my  hand  with  a  force  that  made 
it  tingle  to  the  wrist,  he  departed. 

His  parting  words  were  true,  for  we  have  never 
met  since  that  night ;  but  should  these  lines  ever 
meet  his  eye,  it  may  gratify  him  to  know  there  is 
at  least  oiie  man  in  the  world  who  fully  believes 
his  story,  even  though  it  be  (as  he  styled  it)  "  the 
strangest  adventure  of  all." 


PHCEBE'S  SUITOE.* 

[From  "Lady  Audley's  Secret."      By  Miss  Braddon.] 


eR.  GEORGE  TALBOYS.— Any 
person  who  has  met  this  gentle- 
man since  the  7th  inst.,  or  who  can 
furnish  any  information  respecting 
his  movements  subsequent  to  that 
date,  will  be  liberally  rewarded  on  communicating 
with  A.  Z.,  14,  Chancery  Lane." 

Sir  Michael  Audley  read  the  above  advertise- 
ment in  the  second  column  of  the  Times,  as  he  sat 
at  breakfast  with  my  lady  and  Alicia  two  or  three 
days  after  Robert's  return  to  town. 

"Robert's  friend  has  not  yet  been  heard  of, 
then,"  said  the  baronet,  after  reading  the  advertise- 
ment to  his  wife  and  daughter. 

*'  As  for  that,"  replied  my  lady,  "  I  cannot  help 
wondering  who  can  be  silly  enough  to  advertise 
for  him.  The  young  man  was  evidently  of  a  rest- 
less, roving  disposition— a  sort  of  Bamfylde  Moore 
Carew  of  modern  life,  whom  no  attraction  could 
ever  keep  in  one  spot." 


Though  the  advertisement  appeared  several 
times,  the  party  at  the  Court  attached  very  little 
importance  to  Mr.  Talboys'  disappearance ;  and 
after  this  one  occasion  his  name  was  never  again 
mentioned  by  either  Sir  ^Michael,  my  lady,  or 
Alicia. 

Alicia  Audley  and  her  pretty  step-mother  were 
by  no  means  any  better  friends  after  that  quiet 
evening  on  which  the  young  barrister  had  dined  at 
the  Court. 

"  She  is  a  vain,  frivolous,  heartless  little  coquette," 
said  Alicia,  addressing  herself  to  her  Newfoundland 
dog,  Caesar,  who  was  the  sole  recipient  of  the  young 
lady's  confidences  ;  "  she  is  a  practised  and  con- 
summate flirt,  Caesar  ;  and  not  contented  with 
setting  her  yellow  ringlets  and  her  silly  giggle  at 
half  the  men  in  Essex,  she  must  needs  make  that 
stupid  cousin  of  mine  dance  attendance  upon  her. 
I  haven't  common  patience  with  her." 

In  proof    of    which  last  assertion  Miss  Alicia 


•  By  permission  of  Messrs.  John  Maxwell  and  Co. 


264 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Audley  treated  her  step-mother  with  such  very 
palpable  impertinence  that  Sir  Michael  felt  himself 
called  upon  to  remonstrate  with  his  only  daughter. 

"  The  poor  little  woman  is  very  sensitive,  you 
know,  Alicia,"  the  baronet  said  gravely,  "  and  she 
feels  your  conduct  most  acutely." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  a  bit,  papa,"  answered  Alicia, 
stoutly.  "  You  think  her  sensitive,  because  she  has 
soft  white  hands  and  big  blue  eyes  with  long  lashes, 
and  all  manner  of  affected,  fantastical  ways,  which 
you  stupid  men  call  fascinating.  Sensitive  !  Why, 
I've  seen  her  do  cruel  things  with  those  slender 
white  fingers,  and  laugh  at  the  pain  she  inflicted. 
I'm  very  sorry,  papa,"  she  added,  softened  a  little 
by  her  father's  look  of  distress  ;  "  though  she  has 
come  between  us,  and  robbed  poor  Alicia  of  the 
love  of  that  dear,  generous  heart,  I  wish  I  could 
like  her  for  your  sake ;  but  I  can't,  I  can't,  and  no 
more  can  Caesar.  She  came  up  to  him  once  with 
her  red  lips  ai^art,  and  her  little  white  teeth  glisten- 
ing between  them,  and  stroked  his  great  head  with 
her  soft  hand  :  but  if  I  had  not  had  hold  of  his 
collar,  he  would  have  flown  at  her  throat  and 
strangled  her.  She  may  bewitch  every  man  iu 
Essex,  but  she'll  never  make  friends  with  my  dog." 

"  Your  dog  shall  be  shot,"  answered  Sir  Michael, 
angrily,  "  if  his  \'icious  temper  ever  endangers 
Lucy." 

The  Newfoundland  rolled  his  eyes  slowly  round 
in  the  direction  of  the  si^eaker,  as  if  he  understood 
every  word  that  had  been  said.  Lady  Audley 
happened  to  enter  the  room  at  this  very  moment, 
and  the  animal  cowered  down  by  the  side  of  his 
mistress  with  a  suppressed  growl.  There  was 
something  in  the  manner  of  the  dog  which  was, 
if  anything,  more  indicative  of  terror  than  of  fury, 
incredible  as  it  may  appear  that  Caesar  should  be 
frightened  of  so  fragile  a  creature  as  Lucy  Audley. 

Amiable  as  was  my  lady's  nature,  she  could  not 
live  long  at  the  Court  without  discovering  Alicia's 
dislike  of  her.  She  never  alluded  to  it  but  once  ; 
then,  shrugging  her  graceful  white  shoulders,  she 
said  with  a  sigh, — 

"  It  seems  very  hard  that  you  cannot  love  me, 
Alicia,  for  I  have  never  been  used  to  make  enemies  ; 
but  since  it  seems  that  it  must  be  so,  I  cannot  help 
it.  If  we  cannot  be  friends,  let  us  at  least  be 
neutral     You  won't  try  to  injure  me  1 " 

"  Injure  you  !  "  exclaimed  Alicia ;  "  how  should 
I  injure  you  1 " 

"  You'll  not  try  to  deprive  me  of  your  father's 
affection-^  " 

"  I  may  not  be  as  amiable  as  you  are,  my  lady, 
and  I  may  not  have  the  same  sweet  smiles  and 
pretty  words  for  every  stranger  I  meet,  but  I  am 
not  capable  of  a  contemptible  meanness  ;  and  even 
if  I  were,  I  think  you  are  so  secure  of  my  father's 
love,  that  nothing  but  your  own  act  will  ever 
deprive  you  of  it." 


"  What  a  severe  creature  you  are,  Alicia  ! "  said 
my  lady,  making  a  little  grimace.  "  I  suppose  you 
mean  to  infer  by  all  that,  that  I'm  deceitful.  Why, 
I  can't  help  smiling  at  people,  and  speaking  prettily 
to  them.  I  know  I'm  no  bette?'  than  the  rest  of 
the  world,  but  I  can't  help  it  if  I'm^;>^easan^«-.  It's 
constitutional." 

Alicia  having  thus  entirely  shut  the  door  upon 
all  intimacy  between  Lady  Audley  and  herself,  and 
Sir  Michael  being  chiefly  occupied  in  agricultural 
pursuits  and  manly  sports,  which  kept  him  away 
from  home,  it  Avas,  perhaps,  only  natural  that  my 
lady,  being  of  an  eminently  social  disposition, 
should  find  herself  thro-wn  a  good  deal  upon  her 
white  eye-lashed  maid  for  society. 

Phcebe  ^larks  was  exactly  the  sort  of  girl  who 
is  generally  promoted  from  the  post  of  lady's-maid 
to  that  of  companion.  She  had  just  sufficient 
education  to  enable  her  to  understand  her  mistress 
when  Lucy  chose  to  allow  herself  to  run  riot  in  a 
species  of  intellectual  tarantella,  in  which  her 
tongue  went  mad  to  the  sound  of  its  own  rattle, 
as  the  Spanish  dancer  at  the  noise  of  his  castanets. 
Phcebe  knew  enough  of  the  French  language  to  be 
able  to  dip  into  the  yellow-paper-covered  novels 
which  my  lady  ordered  from  the  Burlington  Arcade, 
and  to  discourse  with  her  mistress  upon  the  ques- 
tionable subjects  of  those  romances.  The  likeness 
which  the  lady's-maid  bore  to  Lucy  Audley  was, 
perliaps,  a  point  of  sympathy  between  the  two 
women.  It  was  not  to  be  called  a  striking  like- 
ness ;  a  stranger  might  have  seen  them  both  to- 
gether, and  yet  have  failed  to  remark  it.  But  there 
were  certain  dim  and  shadowy  lights  in  which, 
meeting  Phoebe  Marks  gliding  softly  through  the 
dark  oak  passages  of  the  Court,  or  under  the 
slirouded  avenues  in  the  garden,  you  might  have 
easily  mistaken  her  for  my  lady. 

Sharp  October  Avinds  were  sweeping  the  leaves 
from  the  limes  in  the  long  avenue,  and  driving 
them  in  withered  heaps  with  a  ghostly  rustling 
noise  along  the  dry  gravel  walks.  The  old  well 
must  have  been  half  choked  up  with  the  leaves 
that  drifted  about  it,  and  whirled  in  eddying 
circles  into  its  black,  broken  mouth.  On  the  still 
bosom  of  the  fish-pond  the  same  withered  leaves 
slowly  rotted  away,  mixing  themselves  with  the 
tangled  weeds  that  discoloured  the  surface  of  the 
water.  All  the  gardeners  Sir  ]\Iichael  could  employ 
could  not  keep  the  impress  of  autumn's  destroying 
hand  from  the  grounds  about  the  Court. 

"  How  I  hate  this  desolate  month  ! "  my  lady 
said,  as  she  walked  about  the  garden,  shivering 
beneath  her  sable  mantle.  "  Everything  dropping 
to  ruin  and  decay,  and  the  cold  flicker  of  the  sun 
lighting  up  the  ugliness  of  the  earth,  as  the  glare 
of  gas-lamps  lights  the  wrinkles  of  an  old  woman. 
Shall  I  ever  grow  old,  Phoebe  1  Will  my  hair  ever 
drop  ofi"  as  the  leaves  are  falling  from  those  trees. 


PHCEBE'S   SUITOR 


255 


and  leave  me  wan  and  bare  like  them  ?   What  is  to 
become  of  me  when  I  grow  old  1 " 

She  shivered  at  the  thought  of  this  more  than 
she  had  done  at  the  cold  wintry  breeze,  and 
muffling  herself  closely  in  her  fur,  walked  so  fast 
that  her  maid  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  up 
with  her. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Phoebe,"  she  said  presently, 
relaxing  her  pace,  "  Do  you  remember  that  French 
story  we  read — the  story  of  a  beautiful  woman  who 
committed  some  crime  —  I  forget  what  —  in  the 
zenith  of  her  power  and  loveliness,  when  all  Paris 
drank  to  her  every  night,  and  when  the  people  ran 
away  from  the  carriage  of  the  king  to  flock  about 
hers,  and  get  a  peep  at  her  face  1  Do  you  remember 
how  she  kept  the  secret  of  what  she  had  done  for 
nearly  half  a  century,  spending  her  old  age  in  her 
family  chateau,  beloved  and  honoured  by  all  the 
province  as  an  uncanonised  saint  and  benefactress 
to  the  poor  ;  and  how,  when  her  hair  was  white, 
and  her  eyes  almost  blind  with  age,  the  secret  was 
revealed  through  one  of  those  strange  accidents  by 
which  such  secrets  always  are  revealed  in  romances, 
and  she  was  tried,  found  guilty,  and  condemned  to 
be  burned  alive  1  The  king  who  had  worn  her 
colours  was  dead  and  gone  ;  the  court  of  which 
she  had  been  the  star  had  passed  away  ;  powerful 
functionaries  and  great  magistrates,  who  might 
perhaps  have  helped  her,  were  mouldering  in  their 
graves ;  brave  young  cavaliers,  who  would  have 
died  for  her,  had  fallen  upon  distant  battle-fields  ; 
she  had  lived  to  see  the  age  to  which  she  had  be- 
longed fade  like  a  dream ;  and  she  went  to  the  stake, 
followed  only  by  a  few  ignorant  country  people, 
who  forgot  all  her  bounties,  and  hooted  at  her  for 
a  wicked  sorceress." 

"  I  don't  care  for  such  dismal  stories,  my  lady," 
said  Phoebe  Marks,  with  a  shudder.  "  One  has  no 
need  to  read  books  to  give  one  the  horrors  in  this 
dull  place." 

Lady  Audley  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  laughed 
at  her  maid's  candour. 

"  It  is  a  dull  place,  Phoebe,"  she  said,  "  though 
it  doesn't  do  to  say  so  to  my  dear  old  husband. 
Though  I  am  the  wife  of  one  of  the  most  influen- 
tial men  in  the  county,  I  don't  know  that  I  wasn't 
nearly  as  well  off  at  Mr.  Dawson's ;  and  yet  it's 
something  to  Avear  sables  that  cost  a  hundred  and 
sixty  guineas,  and  to  have  a  thousand  pounds  spent 
on  the  decoration  of  one's  apartments." 

Treated  as  a  companion  by  her  mistress,  in  the 
receipt  of  the  most  liberal  wages,  and  with  per- 
quisites such  as  perhaps  no  lady's-maid  ever  had 
before,  it  was  strange  that  Phoebe  Marks  should 
wish  to  leave  her  situation  ;  yet  it  was  not  the  less 
a  fact  that  she  was  anxious  to  exchange  all  the 
advantages  of  Audley  Court  for  the  very  unpro- 
mising prospect  which  awaited  her  as  the  wife  of 
her  cousin  Luke. 


The  young  man  had  contrived  in  some  manner 
to  associate  himself  with  the  improved  fortunes  of 
his  sweetheart.  He  had  never  allowed  Phoebe  any 
peace  till  she  obtained  for  him,  by  the  aid  of  my 
lady's  interference,  a  situation  as  under-groom  at 
the  Court. 

He  never  rode  out  with  either  Alicia  or  Sir 
Michael ;  but  on  one  of  the  few  occasions  upon 
which  my  lady  mounted  the  pretty  little  grey 
thoroughbred  reserved  for  her  use,  he  contrived 
to  attend  her  in  her  ride.  He  saw  enough  in  the 
very  first  half  hour  they  were  out  to  discover  that, 
graceful  as  Lucy  Audley  might  look  in  her  long 
blue  cloth  habit,  she  was  a  timid  horsewoman,  and 
utterly  unable  to  manage  the  animal  she  rode. 

Lady  Audley  remonstrated  with  her  maid  upon 
her  folly  in  wishing  to  marry  the  uncouth  groom. 

The  two  women  were  seated  together  over  the  fire 
in  my  lady's  dressing-room,  the  grey  sky  closing  in 
upon  the  October  afternoon,  and  the  black  tracery 
of  ivy  darkening  the  casement  windows. 

"  You  surely  are  not  in  love  with  the  awkward 
ugly  creature,  are  you,  Phoebe  ] "  asked  my  lady, 
sharply. 

The  girl  was  sitting  on  a  low  stool  at  her 
mistress's  feet.  She  did  not  answer  my  lady's 
question  immediately,  but  sat  for  some  time  look- 
ing vacantly  into  the  red  abyss  in  the  hollow  fire. 

Presently  she  said,  rather  as  if  she  had  been 
thinking  aloud  than  answering  Lucy's  question, — 

"  I  don't  think  I  can  love  him.  We  have  been 
together  from  children,  and  I  promised,  when  I  was 
little  better  than  fifteen,  that  I'd  be  his  wife.  I 
daren't  break  that  promise  now.  There  have  been 
times  when  I've  made  up  the  very  sentence  I 
meant  to  say  to  him  telling  him  that  I  couldn't 
keep  my  faith  with  him  ;  but  the  words  have  died 
upon  my  lips,  and  I've  sat  looking  at  him,  with  a 
choking  sensation  in  my  throat  that  wouldn't  let 
me  speak.  I  daren't  refuse  to  marry  him.  I've 
often  watched  him  as  he  has  sat  slicing  away  at  a 
hedge-stake  with  his  great  clasp-knife,  till  I  have 
thought  that  it  is  just  such  men  as  he  who  have 
decoyed  their  sweethearts  into  lonely  places,  and 
murdered  them  for  being  false  to  their  word. 
When  he  was  a  boy  he  was  always  violent  and  re- 
vengeful. I  saw  him  once  take  up  that  very  knife 
in  a  quarrel  with  his  mother.  I  tell  you,  my  lady, 
I  must  marry  him," 

"You  silly  girl,  you  shall  do  nothing  of  the 
kind  ! "  answered  Lucy.  "  You  think  he'll  murder 
you,  do  you  1  Do  you  think,  then,  if  murder  is  in 
him,  you  would  be  any  safer  as  his  wife  1  If  you 
thwarted  him  or  made  him  jealous  ;  if  he  wanted 
to  marry  another  woman,  or  to  get  hold  of  some 
poor,  pitiful  bit  of  money  of  yours,  couldn't  he 
murder  you  then  1  I  tell  you,  you  shan't  marry 
him,  Phoebe.  In  the  first  place,  I  hate  the  man ; 
and  in  the  next  place,  I  can't  afford  to  part  with 


256 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


you.  We'll  give  him  a  few  pounds  and  send  him 
about  his  business." 

Phcfibe  Marks  caught  my  lady's  hands  in  hers, 
and  clasped  them  convulsively. 

"  My  lady  ! "  she  cried  vehemently,  "  don't  try  to 
thwart  me  in  this — don 'task  me  to  thwart  him.  I 
tell  you,  I  must  marry  him.  You  don't  know  what 
he  is.  It  will  be  my  ruin,  and  the  ruin  of  others, 
if  I  break  my  word.     I  must  marry  him  I " 

"  Very  well,  then,  Phoebe,"  answered  her  mistress, 


"  You  are  very  good,  my  lady,"  Phoebe  answered 
with  a  sigh. 

Lady  Audley  sat  in  the  glow  of  fire-light  and 
wax  candles  in  the  luxurious  drawing-room  ;  the 
amber  damask  cushions  of  the  sofa  contrasting 
with  her  dark  violet  velvet  dress,  and  her  rippling 
hair  falling  about  her  neck  in  a  golden  haze. 
Everywhere  around  her  were  the  evidences  of 
wealth  and  splendour  ;  while,  in  strange  contrast 
to  all  this,  and  to  her  own  beauty,  the  awkward 


"  You'll  make  it  a  htsdred,  mt  lady."     {Drawn  h>j  G.  C,  Rindley.) 


"  I  can't  oppose  you.    There  must  be  some  secret 
at  the  bottom  of  all  this." 

"  There  is,  my  lady,"  said  the  girl,  with  her  face 
turned  away  from  Lucy. 

"  I  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  you  ;  but  I  have 
promised  to  stand  your  friend  in  all  things.  What 
does  your  cousin  mean  to  do  for  a  living  when  you 
are  married  ? " 

"  He  would  like  to  take  a  public  house." 

"  Then  he  shall  take  a  public  house,  and  the 
sooner  he  drinks  himself  to  death  the  better.  Sir 
Michael  dines  at  a  bachelor's  party  at  Major  Mar- 
grave's this  evening,  and  my  step-daughter  is  away . 
with  her  friends  at  the  Grange.  You  can  bring 
your  cousin  into  the  drawing-room  after  dinner, 
and  I'll  tell  him  what  I  mean  to  do  for  him."  * 


groom  stood  rubbing  his  bullet  head  as  my  lady 
explained  to  him  what  she  meant  to  do  for  her 
confidential  maid.  Lucy's  promises  were  very 
liberal,  and  she  had  expected  that,  uncouth  as  the 
man  was,  he  would  in  his  own  rough  manner  have 
expressed  his  gratitude. 

To  her  surprise  he  stood  staring  at  the  floor 
without  uttering  a  word  in  answer  to  her  offer. 
Phoebe  was  standing  close  to  his  elbow,  and  seemed 
distressed  at  the  man's  rudeness, 

"  Tell  my  lady  how  thankful  you  are,  Luke,"  she 
said. 

"But  I'm  not  so  over  and  above  thankful,"' 
answered  her  lover,  savagely.  "  Fifty  pound  ain't 
much  to  start  a  public.  You'll  make  it  a  hundred, 
my  lady," 


ATTORNEY   SNEAK 


257 


"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Lady 
Audley,her  clear  blue  eyes  flashing  with  indignation, 
"  and  I  wonder  at  your  impertinence  in  asking  it." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will  though,"  answered  Luke,  with 
quiet  insolence,  that  had  a  hidden  meaning. 
"  You'll  make  it  a  hundred,  my  lady. ' 

Lady  Audley  rose  from  her  seat,  looked  the  man 
steadfastly  in  the  face  till  his  determined  gaze  sank 


under  hers  :  then  walking  straight  up  to  her  maid, 
she  said  in  a  high,  piercing  voice,  peculiar  to  her  in 
moments  of  intense  agitation,  "  Phoebe  Marks,  you 
have  told  this  man  !  " 

The  girl  fell  on  her  knees  at  my  lady's  feet. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  He 
forced  it  from  me,  or  I  would  never,  never  have 
told ! " 


ATTOENEY     SNEAK. 

[By  Robert  BtrcHANAsr.] 


Sharp,  like  a  tyrant ;  timid,  like  a  slava  ; 
A  little  rivan,  with  yellow,  hloodlesslcheele ; 


UT  execution  in  on 
Mrs.  Hart — 

If  people  will  be 
careless,  let 
them  smart : 

Oh,  hang  her  chil- 
dren !  just  the 
common  cry ! 

Am  I  to  feed  her 
family]  Not  I 

I'm  tender- 
hearted, but  I 
dare  be  just, — 

I  never  go  beyond 

the  law,  I  trust  j 

plotted   and  starved  and 


way, 


I've   work'd   my 

plann'd. 
Commenced  without  a  penny  in  my  hand. 
And  never  howl'd  for  help,  or  dealt  in  sham— 
No  !    I'm  a  man  of  principle,  I  am. 

What's  that  you  say]      Oh  father  has  been 
here  ? 
Of  course,  you  sent  him  packing  1    Dear,  oh  dear  ? 
When  one  has  worked  his  weary  way,  like  me, 
To  comfort  and  respectability, 
Can  pay  his  bills,  and  save  a  pound  or  two. 
And  say  his  prayers  on  Sunday  in  a  pew. 
Can  look  the  laws  of  England  in  the  face, 
'Tis  hard,  'tis  hard,  'tis  shame,  and  'tis  disgrace. 
That  one's  own  father — old  and  worn  and  gray — 
Should  be  the  only  hindrance  in  his  way. 
Swore,  did  he  1    Very  pretty!    Threaten'd  ?     Oh! 
Demanded  money  1    You,  of  course,  said  "  No  1 " 
'Tis  hard— my  life  will  never  be  secure — 
He'll  be  my  ruin  some  day,  I  am  sure. 

J  don't  deny  my  origin  was  low — 
All  the  more  credit  to  myself,  you  know  : 
Mother  (I  never  saw  her)  was  a  tramp, 
father  half  tramp,  half  pedlar,  and  whole  scamp, 
2o 


A  snappish  mingling  o)  the  fool  and  "knave, 
Resulting  in  the  hyhrid  compound — Sneak. 

AVho  travell'd  over  England  with  a  pack, 
And  carried  me  about  upon  his  back, 
Trudging  from  door  to  door,  to  feasts  and  fairs. 
Cheating  the  silly  women  with  his  wares, 
Stealing  the  farmers'  ducks  and  hens  for  food. 
Pilfering  odds  and  ends  where'er  he  covdd,    - 
And  resting  in  a  city  now  and  then. 
Till  it  became  too  hot, — and  off  again. 
Beat  me  1    No,  he  knew  better.    I  confess 
He  used  me  with  a  sort  of  tenderness  ; 
But  would  have  warp'd  my  nature  into  sin, 
Had  I  been  weak,  for  lack  of  discipline. 
Why,  even  now,  I  shudder  to  the  soul. 
To  think  how  oft  I  ate  the  food  he  stole, 
And  how  I  wore  upon  my  back  the  things 
He  won  by  cheats  and  lawless  bargainings. 
Oh,  he  had  feelings,  that  I  freely  say ; 
But  without  principle  what  good  are  they  1 
He  swindled  and  he  stole  on  every  hand, 
And  I  was  far  too  young  to  reprimand  ; 
And,  for  the  rest,  why,  he  was  circumspect. 
And  might  have  been  committed  for  neglect 

Ah  !  how  I  managed,  under  stars  so  ill. 
To  thrive  at  all,  to  me  is  mystery  stilL 
In  spite  of  father,  though,  I  got  along. 
And    early    leara'd  J^.,judg!^i,,ihe    right    from 

wrong;       oaios*  j/ov  r.^^  c4  jdjiin.;: 
At  roadsides,  when  we  stopp'd  to  rest  and  feed, 
He  gave  me  lessons  how  to  write  and  read ; 
I  got  a  snack  of  schooling  here  and  there, 
And  learn 'd  to  sum  by  instinct,  as  it  were. 
Then,  latterly,  when  I  was  seventeen. 
All  sorts  of  evil  I  had  heard  and  seen  ; 
Knew  father's  evil  ways,  bemoan'd  my  fate, 
Long'd  to  be  wealthy,  virtuous,  and  great ; 
Swore  with  the  fond  ambition  of  a  lad. 
To  make  good  use  of  what  poor  gifts  I  had. 

At  last,  tired,  sick,  of  wandering  up  and  down, 
Hither  I  turn'd  my  thoughts, — to  London  town  ; 


258 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POFULAR   AUTHORS. 


And  finally,  with  little  doubt  or  fear, 

Made  up  my  mind  to  try  my  fortune  here. 

Well,  father  stared  at  first,  and  shook  his  head  ; 

But  when  he  found  I  held  to  what  I  said, 

He  clasp'd  me  tight,  and  hugg'd  me  to  his  heart. 

And  begged  and  prayed  that  I  would  not  depart  ; 

Said  I  was  all  for  whom  he  had  to  care, 

His  only  joy  in  trudging  here  and  there ; 

Vow'd  if  I  ever  left  him,  he  would  die, — 

Then,  last  of  all,  of  course,  began  to  crj. 

You  know  how  men  of  his  position  feel  i 

Selfish,  at  best,  even  when  it  is  real! 

I  tried  to  smooth  him  over,  and,  next  day, 

I  pack'd  what  things  I  had,  and  ran  away. 

I  need  not  tell  you  all  my  weary  flight, 
To  get  along  in  life  and  do  aright — 
How  often  people,  when  I  sought  a  place. 
Still  push'd  my  blessed  father  in  my  face  ; 
Until,  at  last,  when  I  was  almost  stark. 
Old  Lawyer  Hawk  made  me  his  under-clerk ; 
How  from  that  moment,  by  avoiding  wrong. 
Possessing  principle,  I  got  along  ; 
Read    for    the    law,  plotted,    and    dream'd    and 

l)lann'd. 
Until  —I  reach'd  the  height  on  which  I  stand. 

'Twas  hard,  'twas  hard  !    Just  as  my  business 
grows. 
In  fatlier  i)ops  his  miserable  nose. 
Steps  in,  not  sober,  in  a  ragged  dress. 
And  worn  tenfold  with  want  and  wickedness  ; 
Calls  me  hard  names  because  I  wish'd  to  rise  ; 
Here,  in  the  office,  like  a  baby  cries  ; 
Smothers  my  pride  with  shame  and  with  disgrace, 
Till,  red  as  fire,  I  coax'd  him  from  the  place. 
What  could  I  do  under  so  great  a  blow  ] 
I  gave  him  money,  tried  to  make  him  go  ; 
But  ah  I  he  meant  to  rest,  I  plain  could  see. 
His  ragged  legs  'neath  my  mahogany  I 
No  principle  !    When  I  began  complaining, 
How  he  would  be  my  ruin  by  remaining. 
He  tum'd  upon  me,  white  and  wild,  and  swore. 
And  would  have  hit  me,  had  I  utter'd  more. 

"  Tommy,"  he  dared  to  say,  "  you've  done  amiss  ; 
I  never  thought  to  see  you  come  to  this. 
I  would  have  stopp'd  you  early  on  the  journey, 
If  I  had  ever  thought  you'd  grow  attorney. 
Sucking  the  blood  of  people  here  in  London  ; 
But  you  have  done  it,  and  it  can't  be  undone. 
And,  Tommy,  I  will  do  my  best  to  see 
You  don't  at  aU  disgrace  yourself  and  me." 

I  rack'd  my  brains,  I  moan'd  and  tore  my  hair. 
Saw  nothing  left  but  ruin  and  despair  ; 
Father  at  hand,  why,  all  would  deem  me  low : 
"Sneak's  father?  humph!" — the  business  would  go. 
The  labour  of  long  years  would  come  to  nought ! 
At  last  I  hit  upon  a  happy  thought : 


Why  should  not  father,  if  he  pleased  to  be, 

Be  decent  and  respectable  like  me  i 

He  would  be  glad  and  grateful,  if  a  grain 

Of  principle  were  settled  in  his  brain. 

I  made  the  offer, — proud  he  seemed  and  glad, — 

There  rose  a  hope  he'd  change  to  good  from  bad, 

Though,  "  Tommy,  'tis  a  way  of  getting  bread 

I  never  thought  to  come  upon,"  he  said  ; 

And  so  I  put  him  in  the  office  here, 

A  clerk  at  five-and-thirty  pounds  a  year. 

I  put  it  to  you,  could  a  man  do  more  '.' 
I  felt  no  malice,  did  not  close  my  door. 
But  gave  the  chance  to  show  if  he  was  wise 
He  had  the  world  before  him,  and  could  rise- 
Well,  for  a  month  or  more,  he  play'd  no  tricks, 
Writ-drawing,  copying,  from  nine  to  six, 
Not  smart,  of  course,  nor  clever,  like  the  rest. 
But  trying,  it  appear'd,  to  do  his  best  ; 
But  by  and  by  he  changed— old  fire  broke  out — 
He  snapp'd  when  seniors  order'd  him  about — 
Came  late  to  office,  tried  to  loaf  and  shirk — 
Would  sit  for  precious  hours  before  his  work. 
And  scarcely  lift  apen,  but  sleepily  stare 
Out  through  the  window  at  the  empty  air. 
And  watch  the  sunshine  lying  in  the  lane. 
Or  the  bluebottles  buzzing  on  the  pane. 
And  look  as    sad  and    worn  and    grieved    and 

strange 
As  if  he  ne'er  had  had  a  chance  to  change  ; 
Came  one  day  staggering  in  a  drunken  fit ; 
Flatly  refused  one  day  to  serve  a  writ. 
I  talk'd,  appeal'd,  talked  of  my  honest  name. 
He  stared,  turn'd  pale,  swore  loud,  and  out  it  came  : 
He  hated  living  with  that  monkey  crew. 
Had  tried  his  best  and  found  it  would  not  do ; 
He  could  not  bear,  forsooth,  to  watch  the  tears 
Of  people  with  the  Law  about  their  ears, 
Would  rather  steal  his  meals  from  place  to  place, 
Than  bring  the  sorrow  to  a  poor  man's  face — 
In  fact,  you  see,  he  hated  all  who  pay, 
Or  seek  their  moneys  in  the  honest  way  ; 
Moreover,  he  preferr'd  a  roadside  crust. 
To  cleanly  living  with  the  good  and  just  : 
Old,  wild,  and  used  to  roaming  up  and  down, 
He  could  not  bear  to  stagnate  in  a  town  ; 
To  stick  in  a  dark  office  in  a  street. 
Was  downright  misery  to  a  man  with  feet  ; 
Serving  the  law  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 
Give  him  his  pack,  his  freedom,  and  fresh  air. 

Mark  that !  how  base,  ungrateful,  gross,  and  bad 
His  want  of  principle  had  made  him  mad. 
I  gave  him  money,  sent  him  off  by  train, 
And  trusted  ne'er  to  see  his  face  again. 

But  he  came  back.     Of  course.     Look'd  wan  and 
ill. 
More  ragged  and  disreputable  stilL 


THE   FOX'S   TALE. 


259 


Despairing,  groaning,  wretchedest  of  men, 

I  granted  him  another  trial  then. 

Still  the  old  story — the  same  vacant  stare 

Out  through  the  window  at  the  empty  air. 

More  watching  of  the  sunshine  in  the  lane, 

And  the  bluebottles  buzzing  on  the  pane. 

Then  more  of  tipsvness  and  drunken  dizziness. 

And  rage  at  things  done  in  the  way  of  businef.s. 

I  saw  the  very  office  servants  sneer. 

And  I  determined  to  be  more  severe. 

At  last,  one  winter's  morn,  I  went  to  him, 

And  found  him  sitting,  melancholy,  grim, 

Sprawling  like  any  schoolboy  on  his  seat. 

And  scratching  drawings  on  a  foolscap  sheet ; 

Here,  an  old  hag,  with  half-a-dozen  chits, 

Lash'd  with  a  cat-o'-nine  tails,  labell'd  "  Writs  ; " 

There,  a  young  rascal,  ragged  as  a  daw. 

Drinking  a  cup  of  poison,  labell'd  "  Law  ; " 

Elsewhere,  the  Devil,  looking  o'er  a  pile 

Of  old  indictments  with  a  crafty  smile, 

And  sticking  lawyers  on  an  office  file  ; 

And  in  a  corner,  wretchedly  devised, 

A  shape  in  black,  that  kick'd  and  agonis'd. 

Strung  by  a  pauper  to  a  gallows  great, 

And  underneath  it  written,  "  Tommie's  Fate  ! " 

I  touch'd  his  arm,  conducted  him  aside, 

Produced  a  bunch  of  documents,  and  cried  : 

"  Now,  father,  no  more  nonsense  I    You  must  be 

No  more  a  plague  and  a  disgrace  to  me — 

If  you  won't  work  like  others,  you  must  quit ; 

See,  here  are  two  subpoenas,  there  a  writ, 

Serve  these  on  Such-a-one  and  So-and-So. 


Be  sharp,  and  mind  your  conduct,  or  you  go." 

He  never  said  a  word,  but  with  a  glare 

All  round  him,  drew  his  thin  hand  through  his 

hair, 
Turn'd  white,  and  took  the  papers  silently, 
Put  on  his  hat,  and  peep'd  again  at  me. 
Then  quietly,  not  like  a  man  in  ire. 
Placed  all  the  precious  papers  on  the  fire ! 
And  turning  quickly,  crying  with  a  shout, 
"  You,  and  all  documents,  be ! "  went  out 

He  came  again  !    Ay,  after  wandering  o'er 
The  country  as  of  old,  he  came  once  more. 
I  gave  him  money,  off  he  went ;  and  then. 
After  a  little  year,  he  came  again  ; 
Ay,  came,  and  came,  still  ragged,  bad,  and  poor, 
And  he  will  be  my  ruin,  I  am  sure. 
He  tells  the  same  old  tale  from  year  to  year, 
How  to  his  heart  I  ever  will  be  dear ; 
Or  oft  into  a  fit  of  passion  flies, 
Calls  me  ungrateful  and  unkind, — then  cries. 
Raves  of  his  tenderness  and  suffering. 
And  mother's  too— and  all  that  sort  of  thing  : 
He  haunts  me  like  a  goblin  pale  and  grim. 
And— to  be  candid — I'm  afraid  of  him  ; 
For,  ah  !  all  now  is  hopeless,  to  my  cost, — 
Through  want  of  principle  the  man  is  lost. 

— That's  Badger,  is  it  1     He  must  go  to  Vere, 
The  Bank  of  England  clerk.     The  writ  is  here. 
Say,  for  his  children's  sake  we  will  relent, 
If  he'll  renew  at  thirty-five  per  cent. 


THE   FOX'S   TALE. 

["  From  "  Eory  O'More."    By  Samuel  Lover.1 


^ORY  went  to  chapel ;  and  thoughts  of 
the  expedition  and  hopes  for  his 
country  mingled  with  his  devotions, 
and  a  prayer  for  the  safety  of  the 
friend  from  whom  he  had  just  parted 
rose  sincerely  from  his  heart.  Mass  being  over,  he 
returned  to  the  Black  Bull,  where  Finnegan  was 
serving  his  customers. 

"  I  am  come  to  ax  you  for  something,  Larry," 
said  Rory.  "  I  jist  came  to  see  if  you're  done  with 
the  crowbar  I  lint  you  some  time  agon,  as  I'm  in 
want  of  it  myself  to  quarry  some  stones  to- 
morrow." 

"  Yis  ;  there  it  is,  standin'  over  in  the  corner, 
beyant  the  hob  in  the  kitchen  forninst  you  :  I'm 
done  with  it — many  thanks  to  you  ! " 

"  Why,  thin,  what  would  you  want  wid  a  crowbar, 
Finnegan  ?  "  said  one  of  his  customers. 


"  Oh,  it's  the  misthiss  you  should  ax  about 
that  !  "  said  Rory. 

"  Why,  is  it  for  batin'  her  he  got  it  1 " 

"  No,"  said  Finnegan.  "  It's  a  flail  I  have  for 
that." 

"  It's  Misthiss  Finnegan  that  wants  it,"  said 
Rory  :  "  she  makes  the  punch  so  sthrong,  that  she 
bent  all  her  spoons  sthrivin'  to  stir  it ;  and  so  she 
borrowed  the  crowbar." 

"  Long  life  to  you,  Rory,  your  sowl ! "  said 
Finnegan,  who  relished  this  indirect  compliment 
to  the  character  of  his  establishment.  "  Divil  be 
from  me,  but  you  won't  lave  the  house  this  day 
without  takin'  a  tumbler  with  the  misthiss,  afther 
that  !  and  she  shall  mix  it  herself  for  you,  and  ivith 
the  crowbar,  my  boy  !  " 

Rory  would  not  refuse  the  hospitality  offered; 
soj  entering  the  kitchen,  he  sat  by  the  fire  :  and 


260 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Mrs.  Finnegan  endeavoured  to  support  the 
character  he  had  given  her,  by  brewing  one  of  her 
best,  and  she  returned  to  the  kitchen  in  smiles  to 
present  to  Rory  a  "  screeching  "  tumbler  of  punch. 

While  he  was  sitting  there,  chatting  and  sipping 
his  beverage,  a  storm  began  to  threaten,  and  soon 
bui-st  in  all  its  violence  over  the  village.  Rory, 
remembering  he  had  some  miles  to  walk  before  he 
should  reach  his  home,  went  to  the  door.  As  he 
looked  up  the  street,  Scrubbs  was  riding  down  the 
road  at  a  furious  pace  to  get  under  shelter  ;  but  before 
reaching  the  Black  Bull,  a  vivid  Hash  of  lightning 
made  his  horse  start  violently,  and  the  suddenness 
of  the  action  brought  horse  and  rider  to  the 
ground. 

Scrubbs,  who  was  only  stunned  by  the  fall,  made 
an  effort  to  rise  ;  and  Rory  in  a  moment  ran  to  his 
assistance,  and  was  by  his  sida 

"  You're  not  kilt  ]  "  said  Rory. 

"  No,"  said  Scrubbs. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  collector  was  quite  re- 
covered, having  escaped  with  a  few  bruises  :  and 
his  own  safety  left  him  at  liberty  to  lament  over  the 
mishap  of  his  steed,  to  whose  st<ible  he  repaired, 
exclaiming,  as  he  went — 

"  It's  very  unfortunate  ! " 

"  Faith,  it  is  unfortunate,"  said  Finnegan,  "  that 
•your  neck  wasn't  bruk  !  I'd  like  to  dhrink  at  your 
wake." 

There  was  not  one  voice  to  express  sorrow  for  his 
accident,  nor  congratulation  upon  his  escape,  so 
disliked  had  he  made  himself  in  the  country ;  and 
but  for  Kory  O'More,  whose  generous  heart  was 
open  to  the  distress  even  of  a  foe,  he  would  not 
have  had  a  single  being  to  do  him  a  service. 

When  he  found  Rory  determined  to  go,  and  that 
his  way  was  homewards,  he  expressed  a  desire  to 
accompany  him,  for  their  road  lay  together,  and  it 
was  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  the  collector 
to  have  a  companion  ;  for  to  travel  the  country 
alone  07i  foot  was  what  he  dreaded  too  much  to 
venture  upon,  and  considered  even  more  hazardous 
than  remaining  where  he  was. 

A  few  days  before,  he  would  not  have  chosen 
Rory  for  a  companion  ;  but  the  circumstances  of 
his  release  by  the  Colonel  had  mystified  him,  and 
made  him  imagine  that  perhaps  Rory  was  not  the 
dangerous  person  he  had  taken  him  for. 

At  all  events,  under  existing  circumstances, 
he  could  not  but  be  glad  of  his  convoy  :  and  de- 
clared himself  ready  to  face  the  road  on  foot  with 
our  hero. 

Thanking  Finnegan,  whose  care  of  his  horse'.-:) 
shoulder  he  urged,  he  and  Rory  said  "  Good-bye  !  " 
to  the  landlord  and  his  wife,  and  not  forgetting  the 
crowbar,  they  salKed  forth  from  the  snug  shelter 
of  the  warm  hostel  to  buffet  the  chilling  storm 
which  still  raged  with  unmitigated  fury. 

They  proceeded  in  silence  until  they  had  passed 


the  skirts  of  the  village  ;  when  Rory  turning  from  • 
the  high  road,  struck  into  a  path  throu^i  the  fields 
that  lay  beside  it. 

They  were  drawing  near  the  walls  of  the  Folly, 
when  he  suddenly  stopped  and  said  to  Scrubbs, 
"  Didn't  you  hear  a  shout  1  " 

"Where  1 "  said  the  collector,  getting  as  close  to 
him  as  he  could. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  halloo,"  said  Rory  : 
'=  listen ! " 

The  shout  proceeded  from  the  grated  window  of 
the  vault  where  De  Welskein  and  his  companions 
were  imprisoned  by  a  landslip  occasioned  by  the 
thunderstorm  which  had  overthroAvn  Scrubbs. 
They,  seeing  two  men  in  the  valley,  had  raised 
their  combined  voices  in  one  wild  chorus  of 
despair,  to  attract  their  attention  ;  and  observing 
the  successful  result  of  their  tirst  effort,  they  again 
assayed  to  arrest  their  observation  in  the  same 
manner ;  and  when  the  men  paused  the  second 
time,  De  Welskein  took  his  handkei'chief  from  his 
neck,  and  waving  it  through  the  bars  of  his  dungeon 
as  a  further  means  of  attracting  notice,  a  third 
tremendous  yell  issued  from  the  vault  which  the 
torrent  was  inundating. 

"  Look,  look  ; "  said  Rory,  pointing  to  the  hand- 
kerchief ;  ''  some  one  is  calling  for  help  there  !  " 

With  these  words  Rory  ran  towards  the  Folly  ; 
and  Scrubbs  followed  because  he  was  afraid  to 
remain  alone.  On  approaching  sufRcic  ntly  close  to 
recognise  persons,  the  wonder  was  mutual  between 
those  within  and  those  without  the  vault  at  the 
rencounter. 

"  Murdher  !  is  it  you,  Mr.  Devilskin  ! "  said  Rory. 
"  Why,  thin,  what  brought  you  there  at  all  1 " 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  the  con- 
fused and  almost  unintelligible  conversation  that 
ensued ;  it  was  rather  a  volley  of  vociferation  on 
both  sides — the  Frenchman  shouting  "  Ouvrez 
vite  !  "  while  the  other  prisoners  were  exclaiming, 
"  Rory,  make  haste,  or  we'll  be  dhrownded  by  the 
rising  of  the  water  ! " 

"  Wait  a  minit,  and  I'll  settle  the  business  for 
yoxi,"  said  Rory.  "  Sure  and  wasn't  it  the  hoighth  o' 
good  luck  I  happened  to  have  the  crowbar  with 
me!" 

As  he  spoke  he  put  the  powerful  implement  be- 
tween the  bars  of  the  grated  window,  and  wrenched 
the  rusted  irons  from  their  sockets  ;  and  then, 
giving  a  hand  to  De  Welskein,  he  assisted  him  in 
his  egress  through  the  newly-made  opening ;  and 
in  a  few  seconds  the  whole  party,  so  lately  incar- 
cerated in  a  dangerous  dungeon,  were  liberated 
even  by  the  very  man  against  whose  safety  one  of 
their  party,  Regan,  endeavoured  to  direct  their 
vengeance  ! 

And  now  a  terrible  example  was  given  of  the 
facility  with  which  past  mercies  are  forgotten,  and 
of  the  hardness  of  the  human  heart  when  brutiili.^ed 


THE   FOX'S   TALE 


261 


by  vice.  These  very  men,  rescued  from  a  perilous 
position,  and  perhaps  a  horrible  death,  the  moment 
they  were  released,  gave  way  to  their  vengeful 
feelings,  and  thought  not  of  extending  to  a  fellow- 
creature  the  mercy  that  Heaven  had  shown  to- 
wards them. 

Regan  was  the  first  to  notice,  with  triumph,  the 
presence  of  Scrubbs,  and  he  Doiuted  it  out  to 


There  was  a  shout  of  "No  !"  from  the  group. 
The  trembling  collector  laid  hold  of  Rory. 

"  Don't  grip  me  that  way,  or  I  can't  fight !  "  said 
Rory  :  "mind  yourself,  you'd  betther." 

He  threw  himself  into  a  posture  of  defence,  and, 
with  the  weapon  he  held,  he  was  a  formidablp 
adversary. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  yiz  all  he  was  a  thraitor  ! "  said 


Eokt's  Threat.     {Draicn  by  W.  Balsion.) 


the  party  with  an  exclamation  of  blasphemous  re- 
joicing. 

"  We're  in  luck  afther  all ;  for  there  he  is — the 
very  chap  we  are  hungerin'  for ! " 

He  pointed  to  Scrubbs  as  he  spoke ;  and  he, 
whose  fears  were  sufficiently  awake  before,  now 
pressed  close  beside  Rory,  who  could  feel  his  tremor 
as  he  leaned  for  support  against  him. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  want  with  him  1 "  said  Rory. 

"  We  jist  want  to  take  a  loan  of  him,"  said  Regan, 
who  advanced. 

"  Boys  I "  cried  Rory  in  an  appealing  tone,  "  I 
saved  yo^cr  lives  five  minutes  ago,  and  all  I  ask  is 
that  you'll  let  us  go  quietly  out  o'  this." 


Regan.     "If  he  wasn't,  would  he  do  what  he's 
doin'  1 — Do  you  believe  me  now  1" 

At  that  moment,  and  under  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances, joined  to  foregone  suspicions  of  Rory's 
fidelity,  the  words  of  Regan  were  like  sparks  on 
gunpowder  :  there  was  a  shout  from  the  group  and 
a  rush  on  Rory,  who  felled  two  of  his  assailants  to 
the  earth  as  they  advanced  upon  him,  while  the 
wretched  Scrubbs  struck  not  a  blow  in  his  own 
defence.  While  Rory  was  keeping  up  an  unequal 
fight  against  numbers,  his  vindictive  enemy,  Shan 
Dhu,  came  behind  him,  and  giving  him  a  severe 
blow  under  the  ear,  for  the  first  time  had  the 
satisfaction,  of  seeing  Ror^  stagger  beneath  his 


262 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


stroke.  In  a  moment  Eory  was  overpowered  and 
secured  ;  and  he  and  Scrubbs,  the  latter  of  whom 
prayed  in  the  most  abject  manner  for  mercy,  were 
dragged  within  the  walls  of  the  Folly. 

Scnibbs  they  stowed  away  in  a  dark  corner, 
under  watch  ;  but  Eory,  thanks  to  a  spark  of 
gratitude  in  the  Frenchman,  was  allowed  to  sit  up 
among  them  in  a  high  part  of  the  cavern,  which 
they  recklessly  entered  again  to  avoid  the  rain. 

"  Me  not  know  I  do  the  right  to  treat  you  to  de 
caufee,"  said  De  Welskein,  "you  are  one  great  rog, 
Rory  ! " 

"Here's  to  the  pair  of  us,  then/'  returned  the 
Irishman,  drinking  ;  '*  and  if  you're  ever  hanged  for 
being  an  honest  man  it  will  be  a  miu-dher  ! " 

"  Tank  you,  but  you  are  how  cunning  !  like  dat 
little  animal  that  runs  along  wiz  a  brosh." 

"  Sweeps,  is  it  1 "  inquired  O'More  innocently. 

''  No,  no,  no  !  le  reynard — ah,  ze  faux  !  " 

"  Oh,  is  it  the  fox  ?  have  yiz  got  foxes  in  France  ?" 

"  Sartinly,"  answered  the  smuggler.  "  Faux  ver' 
moshe  in  my  contree." 

"  I'll  howld  you  a  quart  o'  porther  that  they're 
not  to  compare  with  the  Irish  foxes  in  regard  o' 
cunnin',"  observed  Eory. 

"  Ver'  moshe  cunning,  French  faux." 

"  Why,  an  Irish  fox  would  sthrip  a  French  fox 
of  his  skin,  and  sell  it  before  his  face,  and  th'other 
not  know  of  it,'"  said  Eory. 

"Bah,  bah,  bah '." 

"  Tut,  man,  you  don't  know  what  divils  thim 
Irish  foxes  is.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  fox  of 
Ballybothrum  ? "  went  on  the  peasant,  who  noticed 
some  kegs  that  were  labelled,  "  Keep  from  fire — 
powder,"  and  conceived  a  bold  ide;i. 

"  Ballabot— bosh— vat  you  call  him  1 " 

"  Ballybothrum.  Oh,  that  was  the  fox  in  airnest ! 
Divil  such  a  fox  ever  was  before  nor  sence,  as  that 
same  fox ;  and  the  thing  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
happened  to  a  relation  of  my  own — one  Mickee 
Eooney — that  was  a  ranger  in  the  sarvice  of  the 
Lord  Knows- who." 

The  men  had  gathered  round  grinning  ;  and 
Pierre  said — 

"  Don't  heed  him,  Captain,  he's  making  game  of 
you." 

"  Hould  your  whist,"  cried  Rory,  "  do  you  think 
Munseer  doesn't  know  a  fox  is  game  as  well  as 
you  ?  well,  as  I  was  tellin'  you,  Munseer,  the  ranger 
lived  in  a  small  taste  of  a  cabin,  beside  the  wood, 
all  alone  by  himself,  barrin'  the  dogs  that  "was  his 
companions." 

"Dedaugs?" 

"Yis;  himsilf  and  the  dogs  were  the  only 
Christians  in  the  place ;  and  one  night  when  he 
kem  home,  wet  and  wairy  wid  the  day's  sport,  he 
sot  dowTi  beside  the  fire,  just  as  we're  sittin'  here, 
and  begun  smoking  his  pipe  to  warm  himself,  and 
when  he  tuk  an  air  o'  the  fire  he  thought  he'd  go 


to  bed  ;  not  to  sleep  you  parsaive,  but  to  rest  him- 
self, like.  So  he  took  ott"  his  clothes,  and  hung 
them  to  dhry  f  orninst  the  fire,  and  then  he  went  to 
bed  ;  and  an  illigant  bed  it  was— the  finest  shafb 
o'  sthraw  you  ever  seen,  lyin'  over  in  the  corner,  as 
it  might  be  there,"  pointing  to  several  trusses  just 
out  of  harm's  way  from  the  fire,  at  which  Regan 
and  his  especial  mates  were  sulkily  drying  their 
clothes.  "  And  as  he  was  lyin'  in  bed,  thinking  o' 
nothin'  at  all,  and  divartin'  himself  with  lookin'  at 
the  smoke  curlin'  up  out  o'  the  fire,  what  should  he 
see  but  the  door  open,  and  a  fox  march  into  the 
place  just  as  bowld  as  if  the  house  was  his  own  ; 
an'  he  went  over  and  sot  down  on  his  hunkers 
forninst  the  fire,  and  begun  to  warm  his  hands  like 
a  Christian.     It's  truth  I'm  tellin'  you." 

"  Staup,  sair,  staup  !  ver  vas  de  daugs  all  dis 
time  ■? " 

"  The  dogs  !  "  responded  Eory.  "  Oh,  the  dogs  is 
it]  Oh,  I  didn't  tell  you  that !  Oh,  sure  the  dogs 
was  runnin'  about  the  wood  at  the  time,  ketchin' 
rabbits ;  for  the  fox  was  listenin',  you  see,  outside 
the  door,  and  heer'd  the  ranger  tell  the  dogs  to  go 
and  ketch  him  a  brace  o'  rabbits  for  his  supper ;, 
for  I  go  bail,  if  the  fox  didn't  know  the  dogs  was. 
out  o'  the  place  the  divil  a  toe  he'd  put  inside  the 
ranger's  house.  And  that  shows  you  the  cunnin'  o* 
the  baste.  Well,  as  he  was  sittin'  at  the  fire,  what 
do  you  think,  but  he  tuk  the  ranger's  pipe  off  the 
hob,  an'  lights  it  in  the  fire,  and  begins  to  smoke  as 
nath'ral  as  any  other  man  you  ever  seen." 

"  Smoke  !  de  faux  smoke  1 "  exclaimed  De  Wel- 
skein, amid  the  general  laughter. 

"  Oh,  yis  ;  all  the  Irish  foxes  smoke  when  they 
can  get  bakky  ;  and  they're  mighty  fond  o'  '  short- 
cut '  when  the  dogs  is  afther  them  !  well,  Munseer,. 
the  ranger  could  hardly  keep  his  timper  at  all,. 
when  he  seen  the  baste  smokin'  his  pipe,  and  with 
that  says  he,  '  It's  fire  and  smoke  of  another  kind 
I'll  give  you,  my  buck,'  says  he,  takin'  up  his  gua 
to  shoot  him  ;  but  the  fox  had  put  the  gun  into  a 
pail  o'  wather,  and,  of  course,  the  divil  a  fire  the 
gun  would  fire  for  the  ranger.  And  so  the  fox 
put  his  finger  on  his  nose  just  that-a-way,  and 
laughed  at  him.  '  Wow  i  wow  ! '  says  the  fox  put- 
tin'  out  his  hand  and  takin'  up  the  newspaper  to 
read." 

"  De  newspaper  ?  no,  no,  my  bey,"  interrupted 
the  captain,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Why,  man  alive,"  retorted  Rory  logically,  "  how 
would  the  fox  know  where  the  hounds  was  to  meet 
next  mornin'  if  he  didn't  read  the  paper  ^ — sure 
that  shows  you  the  cunnin' o'  the  baste  !  Well,  with 
that  the  ranger  puts  his  fingers  to  his  mouth,  and 
gives  a  blast  of  a  fwistle  you'd  hear  a  mile  off,  for 
to  call  the  dogs.  '  Oh  !  is  it  for  fwistlin'  you  are,' 
says  the  fox,  '  then  it  is  time  for  me  to  lave  the 
place,'  says  he,  '  for  'twould  not  be  good  for  my 
health  to  be  here  when  the  dogs  come  back.'    So 


THE   HOMES   OF   THE   POOR. 


263 


he  lays  down  the  pipe  in  the  hob ;  but  before  he 
did,  I  must  tell  you  he  wiped  it  with  the  end  of  his 
tail — for  he  was  a  dacent  baste,  and  used  his  tail  as 
Tiath'ral  as  a  Christian  would  use  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat— and  then  he  was  going  to  start;  but  the 
ranger  seein'  that  he  was  goin'  to  escape,  jumps 
out  o'  the  bed  and  gets  betune  him  and  the  door, 
'  and  the  divil  a  start  you'll  start,'  says  he,'  till  the 
dogs  comes  back,  you  red  rascal,  and  I'll  have  your 
head  in  my  fist  before  long,'  says  he,  '  and  that's 
worth  a  pound  to  me.  '  I'll  hould  you  a  quart  of 
porther,'  says  the  fox,  '  I'U  make  you  lave  that.' 
'  Divil  a  lave,'  says  the  ranger.  '  Wow,  wow ! '  says 
the  fox,  '  I'm  a  match  for  you  yet  j'  and  what  do 
you  think,  but  he  whips  the  ranger's  breeches  off 
the  back  o'  the  chair,  and  throws  them  into  the 
fire,  and  he  knew  the  divil  another  pair  the  ranger 
had  to  his  back." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  listeners. 

" '  That'll  make  you  start,'  says  the  fox.  '  Divil 
a  start,'  says  the  ranger;    '  my  breeches  is  worth 


half-a-crown,  and  your  head's  worth  a  pound,  so  111 
make  seventeen  and  sixpence  by  the  exchange.' 
'  Well,  you  are  the  stupidest  vagabone  I  ever  met,' 
says  the  fox,  and  '  I'll  make  you  sensible  at  last, 
that  you  must  let  me  go,  for  I'll  burn  you  out  of 
house  and  home,'  says  he,  and  with  that,  he  takes 
up  the  red-hot  poker,"  went  on  O'More,  reaching 
between  Pierre  and  the  captain,  and  seizing  the 
glowing  "  loggerhead  "  iron,  a  match  for  the  crow- 
bar of  which  he  had  been  deprived.  "  And  with 
that  he  ran  to  the  ranger's  bed  (as  it  might  be 
this  same  straw),"  continued  he,  as  all  shrank  back 
from  him,  and  he  rushed  to  the  kegs  on  the 
straw,  and  staved  in  the  head  of  one  with  his  heel 
"  And,"  says  he— (here  Rory  changed  his  laughing 
tone  to  one  of  serious  import,  while  he  lowered  the 
red-hot  poker's  head  into  the  glistening  black 
grains),  "  by  the  howly  poker,  av'  yiz  don't  throw 
down  your  arms,  ivery  man  Jack  o'  yiz,  I'll  touch  up 
the  sulpher  and  blow  yiz  from  here  to  the  last  day 
of  the  new  year  ! " 


THE   HOMES   OF   THE   POOE. 

[By  Mrs.  Henrt  Wood.] 


ICHARD  SALE'S  history  is  but  that 
of  many.  He  had  been  attracted  to 
London  from  his  country  home  by 
greater  wages  earned  there,  and  for 
some  time  he  did  well.  But  misfor- 
tune came  to  him  in  the  shape  of 
rheumatic  fever  ;  it  lasted  long  enough  to 
sell  him  up,  and  turn  him  out  with  his  wife 
and  children,  when  he  was  still  too  weak  to  work. 
He  never  recovered  position — if  that  word  may  be 
applied  to  a  daily  labourer.  The  fingers  of  one  hand 
were  considerably  weakened,  the  joints  stiff,  and  for 
four  years  he  had  to  get  a  living  how  he  could,  at 
odd  jobs  ;  at  buying  things  to  sell  again;  or,  as  he 
had  been  doing  to-day,  walking  out  miles  to  get  up 
roots,  or  cress  ;  keeping  his  honesty  always,  and 
self-denying  to  the  end. 

You  never  saw  or  dreamed  of  such  a  place  as 
the  one  he  finally  turned  into.  It  was  not  fit  for 
human  beings  to  dwell  in.  A  pig-sty  inhabited  by 
respectable  pigs  would  have  been  sweet  in  com- 
parison. They  called  it  by  distinction  a  court.  A 
court  !  On  either  side  of  an  alley  ten  feet  wide, 
which  had  no  thoroughfare,  was  a  block  of  build- 
ings :  old,  overhanging,  tumble-down  dwellings. 
They  had  no  outlet  behind  on  either  side,  being 
built  against  the  backs  of  other  houses  :  and  two 
women,  hanging  out  their  linen  to  dry  on  cords 
stretched  across  from  roof  to  roof,  could  lean  from 
the  windows  and  shake  hands  with  each  other.   The 


fresh  air  of  heaven,  given  us  so  freely  by  God, 
could  not  penetrate  to  these  miserable  houses.  A 
whole  colony  of  people  lived  in  them,  how  many  in 
a  room — at  least  in  some  of  the  rooms — it  would  be 
regarded  as  a  libel  to  say.  The  stairs  were  scarcely 
safe,  the  floors  were  rotten  ;  dirt  and  sickness 
prevailed.  As  to  cleaning  the  places — water  was 
a  great  deal  too  scarce  for  that. 

Richard  Sale  went  nearly  to  the  bottom  of  this 
court,  turned  into  a  doorway  on  the  left,  and 
thence  into  a  room  on  the  right.  A  small,  low 
room.  Standing  in  its  midst  he  could  have  touched 
the  side  walls,  and  his  head  narrowly  escaped 
brushing  the  ceiling.  What  colour  the  walls  had 
originally  been,  nobody  could  tell ;  the  window, 
facing  the  courtyard,  had  most  of  its  panes  broken, 
and  pasted  over  with  newspaper.  On  the  high 
mantel-piece,  opposite  the  door,  was  a  lighted 
candle  stuck  in  a  gingerbeer-bottle.  The  man 
looked  at  it  as  he  went  in. 

"  Halloa,  Charley,  got  a  light  ? "  he  exclaimed  in 
a  kind  tone. 

"Bridget  Kelly  came  in  and  lighted  it,  da," 
replied  a  weak  young  voice  from  the  floor.  "  I've 
been  ill,  da." 

He  lay  on  a  mattress  against  the  wall  opposite 
the  window,  covered  with  a  grey  woollen  blanket — 
a  boy  nine  years  old.  In  frame  he  looked  younger  ; 
in  face  considerably  older,  for  it  wore  that  preter- 
natural expression  of  intelligence  sometimes  seen 


264 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


in  delicate  children  of  any  station,  often  in  the 
extreme  poor.  It  was  a  fair,  meek  little  face  ;  and 
something  in  the  blue  eyes,  bright  to-night,  and  in 
the  falling  flaxen  hair,  momentarily  reminded  the 
man  of  the  other  child  with  the  blue  ribbons  he 
had  seen  that  day.  This  little  boy  was  the  only 
one  of  all  his  family  left  to  Richard  Sale.  He  had 
been  ailing  some  time,  as  if  consumed  by  an  inward 
fever,  and  got  weaker  and  weaker. 

A  chair  without  a  back  ;  a  low  wooden  stool  on 
three  legs  ;  a  board  laid  across  a  pan  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  serving  for  a  table,  appeared  to 
constitute  the  chief  of  the  goods  and  chattels  : 
but  everj'thing,  including  the  floor,  was  scrupu- 
lously clean.  Sale  put  down  the  things  he  had 
brought  in,  and  stooped  to  kiss  the  child. 

"Been  ill,  d'ye  say,  Charley  ?    Worse  1 " 

The  boy  wa.s  sitting  up  now.  He  had  on  a  warm 
comfortable  shirt,  made  of  some  dark  woollen  stufl". 
The  father  stroked  the  hair  from  his  brow  with  a 
gentle  hand. 

"  Tell  da  what  the  matter  has  been." 

At  this  juncture  a  woman  came  bursting  in,  A 
very  untidy  woman,  in  attire  just  suited  to  the 
place  :  the  Bridget  Kelly  sjwken  of.  She  with  her 
husband  and  children  occupied  one  of  the  upper 
rooms,  and  would  often  look  after  the  lonely  boy 
when  his  father  was  away.  From  what  she  said 
now,  Sale  made  out  that  .she  had  come  in  that 
afternoon  and  found  Charley  "oflF  his  head,' 
meaning  that  his  mind  had  been  wandering. 

"  May  be  it's  the  beginning  o'  faver,"  she  said. 
"  His  eyes  was  wUd,  and  his  cheeks  had  the  flush 
o'  the  crimson  rose.  1  think  he  must  ha'  been  in 
it  some  time,  for  he  couldn't  remember  nothing  of 
how  the  day  had  gone.  After  that  he  took  a  faint- 
ing fit,  and  I  thought  sure  he  was  " — she  stopped 
for  a  moment,  and  then  substituting  better  words 
for  the  boy's  hearing  than  those  she  had  been 
about  to  say — "  worse,  and  it  frightened  me." 

Sale  made  no  reply,  only  looked  down  at  his  child. 
The  woman  continued  : 

'•  I  just  called  uiy  big  Pat,  and  sent  him  to  ask 
the  doctor  to  step  down  here.  But  we  haven't  seen 
the  colour  of  him  yet ;  and  Pat  he've  not  come 
back  nather.  I'll  be  after  w^alloping  him  when  he 
do." 

"  What  doctor  did  you  send  to  1 "  asked  Sale. 

"  One  that  Jenny  told  us  on.  She  come  i'  the 
thick  o'  the  fight,  and  she  said  she'd  stay  wi'  him 
then.  I  was  a  busy  dabbing  out  my  bits  o'  things 
for  the  childer." 

Mrs.  KeUy  went  away,  and  Richard  Sale  knelt 
down  then  to  be  nearer  the  child.  He  felt  his  hot 
brow  ;  he  felt  his  little  hands,  they  were  cold ; 
and  as  he  looked  attentively  into  the  face  turned  up 
to  him,  a  great  aching  took  possession  of  his  heart. 
He  loved  the  boy  with  a  fervent  love,  as  it  was  his 
natxire  to  do.    Contact  with  the  rough  usage  of  a 


rough  world  had  not  seared  his  aff"ections  as  it  does 
those  of  most  men.  The  boy  turned  as  if  in 
sudden  remembrance,  and  brought  up  a  flower 
from  somewhere  between  the  bed  and  the  wall.  It 
was  one  of  those  single  hyacinths,  or  field  blue- 
bells, common  to  the  season. 

"  See,  da  I  "  Da,  a  substitute  for  daddy,  as  may 
be  surmised,  had  grown  into  common  use.  The 
boy  had  never  called  his  father  by  any  other  name. 
"  Jenny  gave  it  me.     See  how  nice  it  smells." 

"  Ay.    Are  you  hungry,  Charley  V' 

"  I'm  thirsty,"  answered  Charley. 

Sale  rose.  He  took  off  his  smock-frock,  stand- 
ing revealed  in  a  coloui'ed  shirt,  trousers,  and 
braces  made  of  string;  lifted  the  board  off  the 
earthenware  pan,  and  brought  up  from  thence  some 
dry  bits  of  wood  and  a  handful  of  coal :  with  these 
he  made  a  fire.  From  a  cupboard  iji  the  wall  he 
took  a  few  useful  articles,  a  cup  or  two,  plate  or 
two,  a  teaix)t,  and  small  tin  kettle,  which  he  Avent 
into  the  courtyard  to  fill.  But  ever  and  anon  as 
he  busied  himself,  waiting  for  the  water  to  boil,  he 
cast  a  yearning  look  on  the  boy's  face,  Avho  lay 
languidly  watching.  This  evening  social  meal,  so 
patiently  waited  for  through  the  day,  through  many 
a  day,  was  the  one  white  interlude  in  his  life  of 
labour. 

"It's  ready  now,  Charley.  Will  you  sit  up  to 
it?" 

Charley  left  the  bed  and  took  his  place  on  the 
three-legged  stool  close  to  the  fire,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  taken  with  a  shivering  fit.  Sale  folded 
the  grey  blanket  over  him  ;  cut  him  some  bread 
and  half  a  saveloy,  and  gave  it  him  on  a  i)late. 
Charley  took  a  bite  of  each  and  apparently  could 
not  swallow  either. 

"  The  tea's  coming,  lad." 

The  tea  did  come  :  and  he  drank  it  down  at  a 
draught,  giving  back  the  cup  and  the  eatables  to- 
gether. It  was  nothing  very  unusual  :  his  appetite 
nad  been  capricious  of  late.     "  I  can't  eat  it,  da." 

"  We'll  try  some  sop,  Charley.  Here's  a  drop  of 
milk  left." 

Going  to  the  cupboard  for  something.  Sale  came 
uix)n  an  unexpected  luxury.  Two  cold  potatoes  on 
a  plate  and  a  bit  of  cooked  herring.  "  Why, 
Charley,  here's  your  dinner  ! "  he  exclaimed. 
Haven't  you  eaten  it  ]" 

"  I  forgot  it,  da." 

Of  course  this  implied  that  his  appetite  had 
failed.  Sale  did  not  like  it  :  it  was  the  first  time 
the  mid-day  food  left  for  him  had  been  wholly 
untouched.  Slicing  a  bit  of  bread  into  a  small 
yellow  basin.  Sale  poured  some  boiling  water  on  it, 
covered  it  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  drained  the 
water  off,  and  put  in  some  sugar  and  the  milk  that 
remained.  It  may  be  remarked  that  Richard  Sale 
did  things  neatly  and  tidily,  quite  different  from 
the  habits  of  his  apparent  class  :  as  he  was  different 


THE   HOMES    OF   THE   POOR 


265 


in  speech  and  manner.  Charley  ate  a  spoonful  of 
the  sop,  and  gave  the  basin  back  again.  "  I'm  only 
thirsty,  da." 

He  was  lying  covered  up  again,  and  had  fallen 
asleep  in  his  own  place  next  the  wall,  for  the 


had  a  shock  head  of  hair,  and  a  loud  voice,  in 
which  he  was  wont  to  express  decisive  opinions  ; 
but  he  wanted  neither  for  common  sense  nor  in- 
nate kindliness.  He  came  in  sniffing  emphatically, 
saying  in  a  word  that  he  had  been  detained,  and 


"  The  doctob  listened  to  all,  neyeb  answeeing."    (Drawn  by  Gordon  Browne.) 


mattress  served  for  both  of  them,  and  the  father 
was  washing  up  the  cups,  when  a  strange  voice  was 
heard  above  the  tongues  of  the  natives,  who  seemed 
to  be  always  keejjing  up  a  perpetual  traffic  in  the 
passage,  and  were  by  no  means  choice  in  their 
language.     Sale  opened  the  door. 

"  Is  there  a  sick  boy  here  named  Charles  Sale  ?"' 
It  was  the  doctor,  come  at  last.     A  young  man, 
a  Mr.  Whatley,  who  had  just  set  up  in  a  neighbour- 
ing street,  and  hoped  to  struggle  into  Dractice.     He 
2h 


giving  a  keen  look  round  the  room.  Sale  began  to 
explain  the  features  of  the  boy's  illness,  but  the 
doctor  cut  it  short  by  unceremoniously  taking  the 
candle  in  his  hand  (leaving  the  bottle,  which  Sale 
made  a  slight  apology  for,  but  the  candlestick  had 
come  to  pieces  a  night  or  two  ago),  and  holding  it 
close  to  the  sleeping  face.  A  wan  white  face,  with 
a  faint  streak  of  pink  across  the  cheeks,  and  the 
dry  lips  open.  He  touched  the  child  gently,  feel- 
ine  his  skin  and  his  t)ulse. 


266 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  Shall  I  wake  him,  sir  ?" 

*'  Presently,"  replied  Mr.  Whatley.  He  put  the 
candle  back  iu  the  bottle,  and  stood  against  the 
side  of  the  mantel-piece,  his  elbow  resting  on  a 
projecting  ledge  of  it,  in  silent  disregard  of  the 
broken  chair  Sale  offered.  "  Have  you  had  advice 
for  him  before  ?" 

"  I've  taken  him  to  the  dispensary.    But — " 

"Well  ?"  for  the  man  had  stopped. 

"  The  gentleman  there  told  me  they  could  not 
do  much  for  him,  sir.  Nothing,  iu  fact.  All  he 
wanted  was  fresh  air  and  exercise,  they  said,  and 
good  li^^ng." 

"And  have  you  given  him  the  fresh  air  and 
exercise  ? "  Looking  round  the  room  he  did  not 
add  "and  the  living." 

"  How  could  I,  sir  1  He  is  not  strong  enough  to 
go  about  with  me,  and  he's  too  big  for  me  to  carry. 
Now  and  then  I've  put  him  to  sit  on  the  street- 
flags  in  the  sun,  but  it  don't  seem  to  answer.  The 
street  has  no  good  air  in  it,  and  in  better  streets 
the  ix)lice  would  only  hunt  him  away,  and  tell  him 
to  move  on." 

The  young  doctor  gazed  steadfastly  at  the 
speaker.  That  the  man  was  superior  to  his 
apparent  class,  and  could  answer  intelligence  with 
intelligence,  was  unmistakable.  Sale  just  men- 
tioned that  he  had  lost  two  children  before,  also 
his  ■R'ife  ;  this  one,  Charley,  had  been  ailing  for 
about  eight  months  now,  nothing  seemed  to 
nourish  him.  The  doctor  listened  to  all,  never 
answering. 

"  "VMiat's  the  matter  with  him,  sir  1 " 

**  Well,  I  should  say  it  was  poison." 

''  Poison  ! "  echoed  Richard  Sale. 

"  Poison,"  repeated  Mr.  Whatley.  "  He  is  being 
poisoned  as  fast  as  he  can  be,  and  the  process  is 
nearly  over.  Children  die  of  it  daily  in  London  ; 
and  men  and  women  too.  You  say  you  have  lost 
two  children  already,  and  your  wife  :  tketj  died  of 
poison  ;  there  can't  be  a  doubt  of  it.  I  don't  care 
what  particular  form  the  final  end  may  take — low 
fever — typhus — cholera — consumption — the  cause 
is  poison,  and  it's  bred  in  these  horrible  tenements. 
If  I  had  my  way,  I'd  blow  the  whole  of  such 
rookeries  up  sky-high  with  gunpowder." 

"  My  wife  used  to  say  the  place  was  poisoning 
iier,"  observed  Sale.  "She  was  country-born. 
What  she  seemed  to  die  of  was  decline  :  but  she 
was  always  deHcate." 

"  Decline  ! "  wrathf ully  repeated  Mr.  Whatley. 
"  If  I  stopped  in  this  hole  of  a  room  long  I  should 
ieave  my  heart  out." 

"  There's  no  drainage,  sir,  to  the  place  ;  there's 
nothing  that  there  ought  to  be ;  and  the  stench 
naturally  strikes  on  them  not  accustomed  to  it. 
At  times  it's  hardly  to  be  borne  by  us  who  live 
in  it." 

"  I  should  think  not.     How  you,  an  evidently 


intelligent  and  decent  man,  can  live  in  it,  is  to  me 
a  mystery." 

"  What  else  am  I  to  do,  sir  ? "  returned  Sale,  with 
the  subdued  accent  he  mostly  spoke  in.  "  There's 
nothing  better  to  be  had  at  the  price  I  can  afford 
to  pay.  I  wish  there  was.  The  gi'eater  part  of  us 
that  live  in  these  places  don't  do  it  by  choice,  but 
because  we  can't  help  ourselves.  Some  don't  care  ; 
they'd  pig  on  contentedly  to  their  lives'  end  ;  but " 
most  of  us  would  like  to  do  better.  There's  no 
chance  for  us  :  there's  no  decent  dwellings  to  be 
had  for  the  very  poor." 

The  doctor  could  not  gainsay  this  if  Sale  insisted 
on  it,  though  he  had  a  combative  temper.  Sale 
continued  : 

"  It's  growing  worse  every  day,  more  difficult  to 
get  a  lodging.  What  with  so  many  of  the  old 
houses  being  pulled  down  for  what  they  call  im- 
provements and  for  railways,  and  what  with  the 
increase  of  population,  we  shall  soon  have  no 
homes  at  all." 

"  I'd  go  out  and  encamp  in  the  fields ;  I'd  lie  under 
the  arches  of  the  bridges  ;  I'd  walk  the  streets  all 
night,  rather  than  drug  myself  to  death  in  this 
tainted  atmosphere ! "  cried  the  surgeon,  speaking  as 
if  he  were  in  a  passion. 

"  No,  sir,  you  wouldn't.  It's  easy  enough  to 
think  this  and  that,  but  it's  not  easy  to  do  it.  A 
room,  let  it  be  as  bad  as  it  will,  as  bad  as  this,  is  a 
home,  and  open  fields  and  bridges  are  not.  Sir, 
believe  me,  we  can't  help  ourselves  :  as  long  as 
there's  no  better  places  for  us,  we  must  put  up 
with  these." 

"  It  will  kill  some  of  you.  It  will  sap  away 
your  health  and  strength  ;  and  your  life  after  it." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  dare  say." 

Mr.  Whatley  wondered  what  sort  of  man  he  had 
got  hold  of  :  the  tone  of  voice  was  so  quiet  and 
resigned.  Almost  as  if  he  took  these  greivances  as 
a  matter  of  course,  against  which  he  and  the  rest 
of  the  world  were  helpless.  It  was  but  a  natural 
result  of  the  state  of  things. 

"  You  have  been  better  off,  have  you  not  1"  cried 
the  surgeon. 

"  Not  for  this  four  or  five  years.  I  was  a  good 
workman  once,  earning  my  thirty-five  shillings  a 
week.  I  went  in  for  respectability  then,  for  im- 
provement clubs,  reading-rooms,  and  the  like  ;  my 
father  was  a  printer  in  the  country,  and  we  had 
good  schooling  and  training ;  which  gave  me  a 
taste  for  such  things.  But  I  got  rheumatic  fever 
above  five  years  ago,  and  was  laid  up  for  many 
months." 

"And  then  r 

"  It  left  my  hands  partly  crippled,  sir  :  in  some 
weathers  they're  nearly  useless  still.  I've  had  to 
do  what  I  can  since  then  ;  pick  up  odd  jobs»  and 
live  any  way.  Sometimes  I  get  a  job  at  Co  vent 
Garden  Market ;  or  hawk  things  about  the  streets 


THE   HOMES   OF   THE   POOR. 


267 


when   I've    money  to   buy    tliem  first.      I    don't 
complain,  sir  ;  there's  some  worse  off  than  me." 

"  Not  in  lodgings,  I  know,"  retorted  the  surgeon. 
"  D'ye  ever  have  a  case  of  murder  here  1" 

"  I've  not  heard  of  one,  sir.  There's  plenty  of 
fighting  and  quarrelling.  You  may  hear  it  going 
on  now." 

"  A  nice  school  to  rear  children  in  !  decent  men 
'and  women  they'll  grow  up  !  If  I  lived  in  such  a 
place,  I  should  go  in  for  drinking  ;  "  concluded  the 
young  man  with  candour,  as  he  took  his  arm  from 
the  ledge  of  the  mantel-piece. 

"  As  most  of  them  do.  About  the  child,  sir — is 
it  fever  that  he  has  got  ] " 

"  I  tell  you  it's  poison.' 

"  He  was  delirious  to-day." 

"Yes  :  from  weakness.  I  suppose  you  have 
fever  in  the  house." 

"It's  never  out  of  it,  sir ;  one  sort  or  another. 
Never  at  any  rate  out  of  the  locality." 

"  Just  so.  But  this  child's  has  been  nothing 
but  chronic  inward  fever  induced  by  the  tainted 
atmosphere.    It  has  nearly  left  him  now." 

"  Will  he  get  well,  sir  f 

Mr.  Whatley  knew  that  far  from  getting  well, 
the  little  life  was  at  its  close.  It  was  one  of  those 
cases  where  the  end  comes  so  gradually,  without 
adequate  apparent  cause,  as  to  be  unsuspected  by 
ordinary  observers.  Sale  waited  for  the  answer, 
his  lips  slightly  parted. 

" Would  you  rather  hear  the  truth?"  asked  the 
plain-speaking  doctor. 

There  was  a  minute's  silence.  "Well — yes. 
Yes,  sir." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  tell  it  you.  You  seem  to 
value  him — and  that's  what  can't  be  said,  I'll  wager, 
of  all  the  fathers  in  this  place.  He  will  not  get 
well." 

"  But — what's  killing  him  1 "  cried  Sale,  with  a 
pause  and  a  sort  of  breath-catching. 

"I  tell  you  the  foul  air  he  has  breathed.  It 
must  and  does  affect  children,  and  this  one — as 
I  can  see  at  a  glance — had  not  sufficient  natural 
strength  to  throw  off  the  poison.' 

"  And  he'll  not  get  well  ! "  repeated  the  father, 
who  seemed  to  be  unable  to  take  in  the  fact. 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

Mr.  Whatley  rose.    He  took  a  small  white  paper 


from  his  pocket,  shot  some  powder  from  it  into  a 
tea-cup,  and  asked  for  fresh  water — if  there  was 
such  a  thing  to  be  had.  Sale  brought  some,  which 
the  doctor  smelt  and  made  a  face  over ;  and  he 
put  it  to  the  powder  and  gave  it  to  the  child  to 
drink. 

"  He  won't  eat  his  food,  sir,"  observed  Sale. 

"  I  dare  say  not.     He's  getting  beyond  it." 

The  boy  held  up  the  flower.  "  When  Jenny  gave 
me  this,  she  said  there'd  be  prettier  bluebells  in 
heaven." 

''  Ay,  ay,"  answered  the  young  man,  in  a  tone 
as  though  he  was  lost  in  some  dream.  "  I'll  look 
in  again  in  the  morning,"  he  said  to  Sale,  when 
the  latter  went  out  with  him  to  the  unsavoury 
alley.  "  Y — ah  !  "  cried  he,  wrathfuUy,  as  he  sniffed 
the  air. 

Sale  seemed  to  want  to  say  something. 

"  I've  not  got  the  money  to  pay  you  now,  sir.  I'll 
bring  it  to  you,  if  you'll  please  to  trust  me,  the  very 
first  I  get." 

And  the  young  man,  who  was  a  quick  reader  of 
his  fellow-men,  knew  that  it  would  be  brought,, 
though  Sale  starved  himself  to  save  it.  "All 
right,"  he  nodded,  "  it  won't  be  much.  Look  here, 
my  man,"  he  stopped  to  say,  willing  to  administer 
a  grain  of  comfort  in  his  plain  way,  "  if  it  were  my^ 
child,  I  should  welcome  the  change.  He'll  have  a 
better  home  than  this." 

Sale  went  in  again  ;  to  the  stifling  atmosphere. 
and  the  dirty  walls,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  child 
was  dying  so  peacefully.  The  boy  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  sleep  now  ;  he  lay  in  bed  talking,  a  dull 
glazed  light  in  the  once  feverish  eyes.  Sale  drew 
the  three  legged  stool  close,  and  sat  down  upon  it . 
The  lad  put  his  hand  into  his  father's,  and  the 
trifling  action  upset  Sale's  equanimity,  Avho  had 
been  battling  in  silence  with  his  shock  of  grief. 
Very  much  to  his  own  discomfiture,  he  burst  into 
tears ;  and  he  had  not  done  it  when  his  wife 
died. 

#  #  »  =:.i  «  # 

The  sounds  of  day  were  commencing  outside  ; 
two  women  had  already  pitched  r.pon  some  point 
of  dispute,  and  were  shrieking  at  each  other  with 
shrill  voices.  By-and-by  Sale  leaned  over  to  look 
at  the  still  fa(;e,  and  saw  what  had  happened — 
that  it  was  still  for  ever  ! 


"^wim^ 


268 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


ODE   TO   A  NIGHTINGALE. 

[By  John  Keats.] 


Y  heart  aches, 
and  a  drowsy 
n  u  m  b  n  e  s  s 
pains 

My   sense,    as 
though     of 
hemlock    I 
had  drunk, 
Or     emptied 
some     dull 
opiate  to  the 
drains 
One      minute 
past,       and 
Lethe -wards 
had  sunk  : 
'Tis  not  through 
envy   of  thy 
happy  lot, 

But  being  too  happy  in  thy  happiness,— 
That  thou,  light-winged  Dryad  of  the  trees, 
In  some  melodious  plot 
Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless, 
Singest  of  summer  in  full-throated  ease. 

O,  for  a  draught  of  vintage  !  that  hath  been 
Cool'd  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth, 
Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  country  green, 

Dance,  and  Pi-oven9al  song,  and  sun-burnt  mirth. 
O  for  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm  South, 
Full  of  the  true,  the  blushful  Hipj»ocrene, 
With  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  the  brim, 
And  purple-stained  mouth, 
That  I  might  drink,  and  leave  the  world  unseen, 
And  with  thee  fade  away  into  the  forest  dim  : 

Fade  far  away,  dissolve,  and  quite  forget 

What  thou  among  the  leaves  hast  never  known. 
The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret. 

Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan  , 
Where  palsy  shakes  a  few,  sad,  last  grey  hairs. 
Where  youth  grows  pale,  and  spectre-thin,  and 
dies ; 
Where  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow 
And  leaden-eyed  despairs ; 
Where  Beauty  cannot  keep  her  lustrous  eyes. 
Or  new  love  pine  at  them  beyond  to-morrow. 

Away  I  away  !  for  I  will  fly  to  thee, 

Not  charioted  by  Bacchus  and  his  pards, 

But  on  the  \4ewless  wings  of  Poesy, 
Though  the  dull  brain  perplexes  and  retards. 


Already  with  thee !  tender  is  the  night, 
And  haply  the  Queen-Moon  is  on  her  throne, 
Cluster 'd  around  by  all  her  starry  Fays ; 
But  here  there  is  no  light. 
Save  what  from  heaven  is  with  the  breezes  blown 
Through  verdtxrous  glooms  and  winding  mossy 
ways. 

I  cannot  see  what  flowers  are  at  my  feet, 

Nor  what  soft  incense  hangs  upon  the  boughs  ; 
But,  in  embalmtid  darkness,  guess  each  sweet 

Wherewith  the  seasonable  month  endcws 
The  grass,  the  thicket,  and  the  fruit-tree  wild ; 
White  hawthorn,  and  the  pa.storal  eglantine ; 
Fast  fading  -"iolets  covered  up  in  leaves  ; 
And  mid-]\Iay's  eldest  chiiii, 
The  coming  musk-rose,  full  of  dewy  wine, 

The  murmurous  haunt  of  flies  on  summer  eves. 

Darkling,  I  listen  ;  and.  for  many  a  time 

I  have  been  half  ii;  love  with  easeful  Death. 
Calld  him  soft  names  iu many  a  mused  rhyme, 

To  take  into  the  air  my  quiet  breath ; 
Now  more  than  ever  seems  it  rich  to  die, 
To  cease  upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain. 
While  thou  art  i)ouriug  forth  thy  soul  abroad 
In  such  an  ecstasy  I 
Still  would  st  thou  sing,  and  I  have  ears  in  vaiii, 
To  thy  high  requiem  become  a  sod. 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  bird  I 

No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down  ; 
The  voice  I  hear  this  passing  night,  was  heard 

In  ancient  days  by  emperor  and  clown  : 
Perhaps  the  selfsame  song  that  found  a  path 
Through  the  sad  heart  of  Ruth,  when,  sick  for 
home. 
She  stood  in  tears  amid  the  alien  corn  ; 
The  same  that  oft-times  hath 
Charm'd  magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas,  in  fairy  lands  forlorn. 

Forlorn  !  the  very  word  is  like  a  bell 

To  toll  me  back  from  thee  to  my  sole  seK ! 
Adieu  !  the  fancy  cannot  cheat  so  well 
As  she  is  famed  to  do,  deceiving  elf. 
Adieu  !  adieu  !  thy  plaintive  anthem  fades 
Past  the  near  meadows,  over  the  still  stream, 
LTp  the  hillside  ;  and  now  'tis  buried  deep 
In  the  next  valley-glades  : 
Was  it  a  vision,  or  a  waking  dream  ? 
Fled  is  that  music  :— Do  I  wake  or  sleep  ? 


THE    FIRST   MATE. 


269 


THE     FIEST     MATE. 

[By  James  Eussell  Lowell.] 


E  used  to  walk  the  deck  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  in  seeming 
abstraction,  but  nothing  escaped  his 
eye.  How  he  saw  I  could  never 
^^  make   out,   though   I   had   a   theory 

i?=%f_  that  it  was  with  his  elbows.  After  he 
had  taken  me  (or  my  knife)  into  his 
confidence,  he  took  care  that  I  should  see 
whatever  he  deemed  of  interest  to  a  landsman. 
Without   looking    up,    he   would    say,   suddenly. 


that  our  social  hierarchy  on  shipboard  is  precise, 
and  the  second  mate,  were  he  present,  would  only 
laugh  half  as  much  as  the  first.  Mr.  X.  always 
combs  his  hair  and  works  himself  into  a  black 
frock-coat  (on  Sundays  he  adds  a  waistcoat)  before 
he  comes  to  meals,  sacrificing  himself  nobly  and 
painfully  to  the  social  proprieties.  The  second 
mate,  on  the  other  hand,  who  eats  after  us,  enjoys 
privilege  of  shirt-sleeves,  and  is,  I  think,  the 
happier  man  of  the  two.     We  do  not  have  seats 


"He  was  sure  to  turn  out  in  a  calico  shirt."     (Drawn  by  W.  'RoX^on.) 


**  There's  a  whale  blowin'  clear  up  to  win'ard,"  or, 
*'  Them's  porpises  to  leeward  :  that  means  change 
of  wind."  He  is  as  impervious  to  cold  as  a  polar 
bear,  and  paces  the  deck  during  the  watch  much 
as  one  of  those  yellow  hummocks  goes  slumping 
up  and  down  his  cage.  On  the  Atlantic,  if  the 
wind  blew  a  gale  from  the  north-east  and  it  was 
cold  as  an  English  summer,  he  was  sure  to  turn 
out  in  a  calico  shirt  and  trousers,  his  brown  chest 
half  bare,  and  slippers  without  stockings.  But 
lest  you  might  fancy  this  to  have  chanced  by 
defect  of  wardrobe,  he  comes  out  in  a  monstrous 
pea-jacket  here  in  the  Mediterranean.  "  It's  kind 
o'  damp  and  unwholesome  in  these  ere  waters,"  he 
says,  evidently  regarding  the  Midland  Sea  as  a  vile 
standing  pool  in  comparison  with  the  bluff  ocean. 
At  meals  he  is  superb,  not  only  for  his  strengths, 
but  for  his  weaknesses.  He  has  somehow  or  other 
come  to  think  me  a  wag,  and  if  I  ask  him  to  pass 
the  butter,  detects  an  occult  joke,  and  laughs  as 
much  as  is  proper  for  a  mate.     For  you  must  know 


above  and  below  the  salt  as  in  old  time,  but  above 
and  below  the  white  sugar.  Mr.  X.  always  takes 
brown  sugar,  and  it  is  delightful  to  see  how  he 
ignores  the  existence  of  certain  delicacies  which 
he  considers  above  his  grade,  tipping  his  head  on 
one  side  with  an  air  of  abstraction,  so  that  he  may 
seem  not  to  deny  himself,  but  to  omit  helping 
himself  from  inadvertence  or  absence  of  mind.  At 
such  times  he  wrinkles  his  forehead  in  a  peculiar 
maimer,  inscrutable  at  first  as  a  cuneiform  in- 
scription, but  as  easily  read  after  you  once  get  the 
key.  The  sense  of  it  is  something  like  this  : — "  I, 
X.,  know  my  place,  a  height  of  wisdom  attained 
by  few.  Whatever  you  may  think,  I  do  not  see 
that  currant  jelly,  nor  that  preserved  grape. 
Especially  a  kind  Providence  has  made  me  blind 
to  bowls  of  white  sugar,  and  deaf  to  the  pop  of 
champagne  corks.  It  is  much  that  a  merciful 
compensation  gives  me  a  sense  of  the  dingier  hue 
of  Havana,  and  the  muddier  gurgle  of  beer.  Are 
there  potted  meats?    My  physician  has  ordered 


270 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


me  three  pounds  of  minced  salt-junk  at  every 
meaL" 

One  evening  when  the  clouds  looked  wild  and 
whirling.  I  asked  X.  if  it  was  coming  on  to  blow. 
"  No,  I  guess  not,"  said  he  ;  "  bumby  the  moon'll 
be  up,  and  '  scoff  away'  that  ere  loose  stuff."  His 
intonation  set  the  phrase  "  scoff  away  "  in  quota- 
tion marks  as  plain  as  print.  So  I  put  a  query 
in  each  eye,  and  he  went  on  : — "Ther*  was  a 
Dutch  cappen  onct,  and  his  mate  come  to  him  in 
the  cabin,  where  he  sot  takin'  his  schnapps,  and 
says,  *  Cappen,  it's  gittin'  thick  an'  looks  kin'  o' 
squally  :  hedn't  we's  good's  shorten  sail  ? '  '  Gimmy 


my  alminick,'  says  the  cappen.  So  he  looks  at  it 
a  spell,  an'  says  he,  '  The  moon's  due  in  less'n 
half  an  hour,  an'  she'll  scoff  away  ev'ythin'  clare 
agin.'  So  the  mate  he  goes,  and  bumby  down  he 
comes  agin  and  says,  '  Cappen,  this  'ere's  the  all- 
firedest,  powerfuUest  moon  ever  you  did  see. 
She's  scoffed  away  the  maintopgallauts'l,  and  she's 
to  work  on  the  foretops'l  now.  Guess  you'd 
better  look  in  the  alminick  agin,  an'  fin'  out  when 
this  moon  sets.'  So  the  cappen  thought  'twas. 
time  to  go  on  deck.  Dreadful  slow  them  Dutch 
cappens  be."  And  X.  walked  away,  rumbling 
inwardly  like  the  roll  of  the  sea  heard  afar. 


GEIZZLY. 


[From  "  The  Golden  Butterfly."    By  Walter  Besant  and  James  Kice.  j 


HE  travellers  were  low  down  on  the 
western  slope  of  the  Sierra  ;  they  were 
in  the  midst  of  dales  and  glades — canons 
and  gulches,  of  perfect  loveliness,  shut 
in  by  mountains  which  rose  over  and 
behind  them  like  friendly  giants  guarding 
a  troop  of  sleeping  maidens.  Pel  ion  was 
piled  on  Ossa,  as  peak  after  peak  rose  higher,  all 
clad  with  pine  and  cedar,  receding  farther  and 
farther,  till  peaks  became  points  and  ridges  became 
sharp  edges. 

It  was  autumn,  and  there  were  dry  beds,  which 
had  in  the  spring  been  rivulets  flowing  full  and 
clear  from  the  snowy  sides  of  the  higher  slopes ; 
yet  among  them  lingered  the  flowers  of  April  upon 
the  shrubs,  and  the  colours  of  the  fading  leaves 
mingled  with  the  hues  of  the  autumn  berries. 

A  sudden  turn  in  the  winding  road  brought  the 
foremost  riders  upon  a  change  in  the  appearance 
of  the  country.  Below  them  to  the  left  stretched 
a  broad  open  space,  where  the  ground  had  been 
not  only  cleared  of  whatever  jungle  once  grew 
upon  it,  but  also  turned  over.  They  looked  upon 
the  site  of  one  of  the  earliest  surface-mining 
grounds.  The  shingle  and  gravel  stood  about  in 
heaps ;  the  guUeys  and  ditches  formed  by  the 
miners  ran  up  and  down  the  face  of  the  country 
like  the  wrinkles  in  the  cheek  of  a  baby  monkey ; 
old  pits,  not  deep  enough  to  kill,  but  warranted  to 
maim  and  disable,  lurked  like  man-traps  in  the 
open  ;  the  old  wooden  aqueducts,  run  up  by  the 
miners  in  the  year  '52,  were  still  standing  where 
they  were  abandoned  by  the  "  pioneers ;  "  here 
and  there  lay  about  old  washing-pans,  rusty  and 
broken,  old  cradles,  and  bits  of  rusty  metal  which 
had  once  belonged  to  shovels.  These  relics  and 
signs  of  bygone  gatherings  of  men  were  sufficiently 
dreary  in  themselves,  but  at  intervals  there  stood 


the  ruins  of  a  log-house  or  a  heap  which  had  once 
been  a  cottage  built  of  mud.  Palestine  itself  has 
no  more  striking  picture  of  desolation  and  wreck 
than  a  deserted  surface-mine. 

They  drew  rein  and  looked  4n  silence.  Presently 
they  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  life.  Eight 
in  the  foreground,  about  two  hundred  yards  before 
them,  there  advanced  a  procession  of  two.  The 
leader  of  the  show,  so  to  speak,  was  a  man.  Ho 
was  running.  He  was  running  so  hard,  that  any- 
body could  see  his  primary  object  was  speed. 
After  him,  with  heavy  stride,  seeming  to  be  in 
no  kind  of  hurry,  and  yet  covering  the  ground 
at  a  much  greater  rate  than  the  man,  there  came  a 
bear — a  real  old  grizzly.  A  bear  who  was  "  shadow- 
ing "  the  man  and  meant  claws.  A  bear  who  had 
an  insult  to  avenge,  and  was  resolved  to  go  on  with 
the  affair  until  he  had  avenged  it.  A  bear,  too, 
who  had  his  enemy  in  the  open,  where  thei-e  was 
nothing  to  stop  him,  and  no  refuge  for  his  victim 
but  the  planks  of  a  ruined  log-house,  could  he  find 
one. 

Both  men,  without  a  Avord,  got  their  rifles  ready. 
The  younger  threw  the  reins  of  his  horse  to  his 
companion  and  dismounted. 

Then  he  stood  still  and  watched. 

The  most  exhilarating  thing  in  the  whole  world 
is  allowed  to  be  a  hvint.  No  greater  pleasure  in 
life  than  that  of  the  Shekarry,  especially  if  he  be 
after  big  game.  On  this  occasion  the  keenness  of 
the  sport  was  perhaps  intensified  to  him  who  ran 
by  the  reflection  that  the  customary  position  of 
things  was  reversed.  No  longer  did  he  hunt  the 
bear ;  the  bear  hunted  him.  No  longer  did  he 
warily  folloAv  up  the  game  ;  the  game  boldly 
followed  him.  No  joyous  sound  of  horns  cheered 
on  the  hunter  ;  no  shout,  such  as  those  which  in- 
spirit the  fox  and  put  fresh  vigour  into  the  hare — 


GRIZZLY. 


271" 


not  even  the  short  eager  bark  of  the  hounds,  at 
the  sound  of  which  Reynard  begins  to  think  how 
many  of  his  hundred  turns  are  left.  It  was  a  silent 
chase.  The  bear,  who  represented  in  himself  the 
whole  field — men  in  scarlet,  ladies,  master,  pack, 
and  everything — set  to  work  in  a  cold,  unsym- 
pathetic way,  infinitely  more  distressing  to  a 
nervous  creature  than  the  cheerful  ringing  of  a 
whole  field.  To  hunt  in  silence  would  be  hard 
for  any  man  ;  to  be  hunted  in  silence  is  intoler- 
able. 

Grisly  held  his  head  down  and  wagged  it  from 
side  to  side,  while  his  great  silent  paws  rapidly 
■cleared  the  ground  and  lessened  the  distance. 

"  Tommy,"  whispered  the  young  fellow,  "  I  can 
cover  him  now." 

"  Wait,  Jack.  Don't  miss.  ,  Give  Grisly  two 
minutes  more.     Gad  !   how  the  fellow  scuds !  " 

Tommy,  you  see,  obeyed  the  instinct  of  nature. 
He  loved  the  hunt  :  if  not  to  hunt  actively,  to 
witness  a  hunt.  It  is  the  same  feeling  which 
crowds  the  benches  at  a  bull-fight  in  Spain.  It 
was  the  same  feeling  which  lit  up  the  faces  in 
the  Coliseum  when  Hermann,  formerly  of  the 
Danube,  prisoner,  taken  red-handed  in  revolt, 
and  therefore  moriturus,  performed  with  vigour, 
sympathy,  and  spirit  the  role  of  Actason,  ending, 
as  we  all  know,  in  a  splendid  chase  by  blood- 
hounds ;  after  which  the  poor  Teuton,  maddened 
by  his  long  flight  and  exhausted  by  his  desperate 
resistance,  was  torn  to  pieces,  fighting  to  the  end 
with  a  rage  past  all  acting.  It  is  our  modern 
pleasure  to  read  of  pain  and  suffering.  Those 
were  the  really  pleasant  days  to  the  Roman  ladies 
when  they  actually  witnessed  living  agony. 

"  Give  Grisly  two  minutes,"  said  Captain  Ladds. 

By  this  time  the  rest  of  the  party  had  come  up, 
and  were  watching  the  movements  of  man  and  bear. 
In  the  plain  stood  the  framework  of  a  ruined 
wooden  house.  Man  made  for  log-house.  Bear, 
without  any  apparent  effort,  but  just  to  show  that 
he  saw  the  dodge,  and  meant  that  it  should  not 
.succeed,  put  on  a  spurt,  and  the  distance  between 
them  lessened  every  moment.  Fifty  yards  ;  forty 
yards.  Man  looked  round  over  his  shoulder.  The 
log-house  was  a  good  two  hundred  yards  ahead. 
He  hesitated  ;  seemed  to  stop  for  a  moment.  Bear 
diminished  the  space  by  a  good  dozen  yards— and 
then  man  doubled. 

"Getting  pumped,"  said  Ladds  the  critical. 
Then  he  too  dismounted,  and  stood  beside  the 
younger  man,  giving  the  reins  of  both  horses  to 
one  of  the  Mexicans.  "Mustn't  let  Grisly  claw 
the  poor  fellow,"  he  murmured. 

"  Let  me  bring  him  down.  Tommy." 

"Bring  him  down,  young  un." 

The  greasers  looked  on  and  laughed.  It  would 
have  been  to  them  a  pleasant  termination  to  the 
*'play"  had   Bruin   clawed    the    man.      Neither 


hunter  nor  quarry  saw  the  party  clustered  to- 
gether on  the  rising  ground  on  which  the  track 
ran.  Man  saw  nothing  but  the  ground  over  which 
he  flew ;  bear  saw  nothing  but  man  before  him. 
The  doubling  manoeuvre  was,  however,  the  one 
thing  needed  to  bring  Grisly  within  easy  reach. 
Faster  flew  the  man,  but  it  was  the  last  flight  of 
despair ;  had  the  others  been  near  enough  they 
would  have  seen  the  cold  drops  of  agony  standing 
on  his  forehead ;  they  would  have  caught  his 
panting  breath,  they  would  have  heard  his  muttered 
prayer. 

"  Let  him  have  it,"  growled  Ladds. 

It  was  time.  Grisly,  swinging  along  with 
leisurely  step,  rolling  his  great  head  from  side  to 
side  in  time  with  the  cadence  of  .his  footfall — one 
roll  to  every  half-dozen  strides,  like  a  fat  German 
over  a  t7rjis-temps  waltz — suddenly  lifted  his  face 
and  roared.  Then  the  man  shrieked  ;  then  the  bear 
stopped,  and  raised  himself  for  a  moment,  pawing 
in  the  air ;  then  he  dropped  again,  and  rushed  with 
quickened  step  upon  his  foe  ;  then — but  then — 
•ping!  one  shot.  It  has  struck  Grisly  in  the 
shoulder  ;  he  stops  with  a  roar. 

"  Good,  young  un  !  "  said  Ladds,  bringing  piece 
to  shoulder.  This  time  Grisly  roars  no  more.  He 
rolls  over.     He  is  shot  to  the  heart,  and  is  dead.  . 

The  other  participator  in  this  chasse  of  two  heard 
the  crack  of  the  rifles.  His  senses  were  growing 
dazed  with  fear  ;  he  did  not  stop,  he  ran  on  still, 
but  with  trembling  knees  and  outstretched  hands  ; 
and  when  he  came  to  a  heap  of  shingle  and  sand 
— one  of  those  left  over  from  the  old  surface-mines 
— he  fell  headlong  on  the  pile  with  a  cry,  and  could 
not  rise.  The  two  who  shot  the  bear  ran  across 
the  ground — he  lay  almost  at  llieir  feet — to  secure 
their  prey.  After  thtm,  at  a  leisurely  pace,  strode 
John,  the  servant.  The  greasers  stayed  behind  and 
laughed. 

"  Grisly 's  dead,"  said  Tommy,  pulling  out  his 
knife.     "  Steak  r' 

"  No  ;  skin,"  cried  the  younger.  "  Let  me  take 
his  skin.  John,  we  will  have  the  beast  skinned. 
You  can  get  some  steaks  cut.  Where  is  the  man  1 " 

They  found  him  lying  on  his  face,  unable  to 
move. 

"  Now,  old  man,"  said  the  young  fellow  cheer- 
fully, "  might  as  well  sit  up,  you  know,  if  you  can't 
stand.  Bruin's  gone  to  the  happy  hunting- 
grounds." 

The  man  sat  up,  as  desired,  and  tried  to  take  a 
comprehensive  view  of  the  position. 

Jack  handed  him  a  flask,  from  which  he  took  a 
long  pull.  Then  he  got  up,  and  somewhat  osten- 
tatiously began  to  smooth  down  the  legs  of  his 
trousers. 

He  was  a  thin  man,  about  five  and  forty  years  of 
age ;  he  wore  an  irregular  and  patchy  kind  of 
beard,  which   flourished  exceedingly   on  certain 


272 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


square  half  inches  of  chin  and  cheek,  and  was  as 
thin  as  grass  at  Aden  on  the  intervening  spaces. 
He  had  no  boots,  but  a  sort  of  moccasins,  the 
lightness  of  which  enabled  him  to  show  his  heels 
to  the  bear  for  so  long  a  time.  His  trousers  might 
have  been  of  a  rough  tweed,  or  they  might  have 
been  black  cloth,  because  grease,  many  drenchings, 
the  buffeting  of  years,  and  the  holes  into  which 
they  were  worn,  had  long  deijrived  them  of  their 
original  colour  and  brilliancy.  Above  the  trousers 
he  Avore  a  tattered  flannel  shirt,  the  right  arm  of 


his  flight  was  a  small  wooden  box  strapped  round 
tightly,  and  hanging  at  his  back  by  means  of  a 
steel  chain,  grown  a  little  rusty  where  it  did  not 
rub  against  his  neck  and  shoulders. 

He  sat  up  and  winked  involuntarily  with  both 
eyes.  This  was  the  effect  of  present  bewilderment 
and  late  fear. 

Then  he  looked  round  him,  after,  as  before 
explained,  a  few  moments  of  assiduous  leg- 
smoothing,  which,  as  stated  above,  looked  ostenta- 
tious, but  was  really  only  nervous  agitation.    Then 


•■  The  beak  stopped  and  raised  himself  for  a  moment. 


which,  nearly  torn  to  itieces,  revealed  a  tatooed 
limb,  which  was  strong  although  thin  ;  the  buttons 
had  long  ago  vanished  from  the  front  of  the  gar- 
ment ;  thorns  picturesquely  replaced  them.  He 
wore  a  red-cotton  handkerchief  round  his  neck,  a 
round  felt  bat  was  on  his  head  ;  this,  like  the 
trousers,  had  lost  its  pristine  colour,  and  by  dint 
of  years  and  weather  its  stiffness  too.  To  prevent 
the  hat  from  flapping  in  his  eyes,  its  possessor  had 
pinned  it  up  with  thorns  in  the  front. 

Necessity  is  the  mother  of  invention  :  there  is 
nothing  morally  wrong  in  the  use  of  thorns  where 
other  men  use  studs,  diamond  pins,  and  such  gauds  ; 
and  the  effect  is  picturesque.  The  stranger,  in  fact, 
was  a  law  unto  himself.  He  had  no  coat;  the 
rifle  of  Californian  civilisation  was  missing  ;  there 
was  no  sign  of  knife  or  revolver  ;  and  the  only 
encumbrance,  if  that  was  any,  to  the  lightness  of 


he  rose,  and  saw  Grisly  lying  in  a  heap  a  few  yards 
oflF.  He  walked«over  with  a  grave  face  and  looked 
at  him. 

When  Henri  Balafr^,  Due  de  Guise,  saw  Coligny 
lying  dead  at  his  feet,  he  is  said — only  it  is  a 
wicked  lie  —  to  have  kicked  the  body  of  his 
murdered  father's  enemy.  When  Henri  HI.  of 
France,  ten  years  later,  saw  Balafr^  dead  at  his 
feet,  he  did  kick  the  lifeless  body,  with  a  wretched 
joke.  That  king  was  a  cur.  My  American  was 
not.  He  stood  over  Bruin  with  a  look  in  his  eyes 
which  betokened  respect  for  fallen  greatness  and 
sympathy  with  bad  luck.  Grisly  would  have  been 
his  victor  but  for  the  chance  which  brought  him 
within  reach  of  a  friendly  rifle. 

"A  near  thing,"  he  said.  "Since  I've  been  in 
this  doggooned  country  I've  had  one  or  two  near 
things,  but  this  was  the  nearest," 


THE   PAUPER'S   VRIVE. 


273 


The  greasers  stood  round  the  body  of  the  bear, 
and  the  English  servant  was  giving  directions  for 
skinning  the  beast. 

"  And  which  of  you  gentlemen,"  he  went  on  with 
a  nasal  twang  more  pronounced  than  before — 
perhaps  with  more  emphasis  on  the  word  "  gentle- 
men "  than  was  altogether  required — "  which  of  you 
gentlemen  was  good  enough  to  shoot  the  critter  'i  " 

The  English  servant,  who  was,  like  his  master. 
Captain  Ladds,  a  man  of  few  words,  pointed  to  the 
young  man,  who  stood  close  by  with  the  other 
leader  of  the  expedition. 

The  man  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  death  took 
off  his  shaky  thorn-beset  felt,  and  solemnly  held 
out  his  hand. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  know  your  name,  and 
you  do  not  know  mine.  If  you  did  you  would  not 
be  much  happier,  because  it  is  not  a  striking  name. 
If  you'll  oblige  me,  sir,  by  touching  that " — he 
meant  his  right  hand — "  we  shall  be  brothers.  All 
that's  mine  shall  be  yours.  I  do  not  ask  you,  sir, 
to  reciprocate.  All  that's  mine,  sir,  when  I  get 
anything,  shall  be  yours.  At  present,  sir,  there  is 
nothing;  but  I've  Luck  behind  me.  Shake  hands, 
sir.  Once  a  mouse  helped  a  lion,  sir.  It's  in  a 
book.  I  am  the  mouse,  sir,  and  you  are  the  lion. 
Sir,  my  name  is  Gilead  P.  Beck." 

The  young  man  laughed  and  shook  hands  with 
him. 

"  I  only  fired  the  first  shot,"  he  explained.  "  My 
friend  here——  " 

"  No  ;  fir.st  shot  disabled — hunt  finished  then — 


Grisly  out  of  the  running.  Glad  you're  not  clawed 
— unpleasant  to  be  clawed.  Young  un  did  it.  No 
thanks.     Tell  us  where  we  are." 

Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck,  catching  the  spirit  of  the 
situation,  told  them  where  they  were,  approxi- 
mately. "  This,"  he  said,  "  is  Patrick's  Camp  ;  at 
least,  it  was.  The  Pioneers  of  '49  could  tell  you  a 
good  deal  about  Patrick's  camp.  It  was  here  that 
Patrick  kept  his  store.  In  those  old  days — they're 
gone  now — if  a  man  wanted  to  buy  a  blanket,  that 
article,  sir,  was  put  into  one  scale,  and  weighed 
down  with  gold-dust  in  the  other.  Same  with  a 
pair  of  boots ;  same  with  a  pound  of  raisins. 
Patrick  might  have  died  rich,  sir,  but  he  didn't — 
none  of  the  pioneers  did — so  he  died  poor ;  and 
died  in  his  boots,  too,  like  most  of  the  lot." 

"  Not  much  left  of  the  camp." 

"  No,  sir,  not  much.  The  mine  gave  out.  Then 
they  moved  up  the  hills,  where,  I  conclude,  you 
gentlemen  are  on  your  way.  Prospecting  likely. 
The  new  town,  called  Empire  City,  ought  to  be  an 
hour  or  so  up  the  track.  I  was  trying  to  find  my 
way  there  when  I  met  with  old  Grisly.  Perhaps 
if  I  had  let  him  alone  he  would  have  let  me  alone. 
But  I  blazed  at  him,  and,  sir,  I  missed  him  ;  then  he 
shadowed  me.    And  the  old  rifle's  gone  at  last." 

"  How  long  did  the  chase  last  1 " 

"I  should  say,  sir,  forty  days  and  forty  nights, 
or  near  about.  And  you  gentlemen  are  going  to 
Empire  City?" 

"We  are  going  anywhere.  Perhaps,  for  the 
present,  you  had  better  join  us." 


THE    PAUPEE'S    DEIVE. 

[By  Thomas  Noel.] 


«ej^ 


HERE'S  a  grim  one-horse  hearse  in  a 
_  jolly  round  trot ; 

f^^  To  the  churchyard  a  i)^uper  is  going,  I 
wot; 
The  road  is  rough,  and  the  hearse  has  no 
springs, 

And  hark  to  the  dirge  that  the  sad  driver  sings  : 
"  Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones  ; 
He's  only  a  pauper  whom  nobody  owns." 

Oh !  where  are  the  mourners?  Alas !  there  are  none ; 
He  has  left  not  a  gaj)  in  the  world  now  he's  gone  ; 
Not  a  tear  in  the  eye  of  child,  woman,  or  man — 
To  the  grave  with  his  carcase  as  fast  as  you  can. 

"  Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones  ; 

He's  only  a  pauper  whom  nobody  owns." 

What  a  jolting  and  creaking,  and  splashing  and  din  I 
The  whip,  how  it  cracks  !  and  the  wheels,  how  they 
spin  ! 
2i 


How  the  dirt  right  and  left  o'er  the  hedges  is 

hurled  ! 
The  pauper  at  length  makes  a  noise  in  the  world. 

"  Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones- ; 

He's  only  a"  pauper  whom  nobody  owns." 

Poor  pauper  defunct !  He  has  made  some  approach 
To  gentility,  now  that  he's  stretched  in  a  coach ; 
He's  taking  a  drive  in  his  carriage  at  last. 
But  it  will  not  be  long  if  he  goes  on  so  fast. 

"  Rattle  his  bones  over  the  stones  ; 

He's  only  a  pauper  whom  nobody  owns." 

But  a  truce  to  this  strain,  for  my  soul  it  is  sad 
To  think  that  a  heart  in  humanity  clad 
Should  make,  like  the  brutes,  such  a  desolate  end. 
And  depai-t  from  the  light  Avithout  leaving  a  friend. 

Bear  softly  his  bones  over  the  stones  ; 

Though  a  pauper,  he's  one  whom  his  Makei 
yet  owns. 


274 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


THE   TWO   WELLERS. 

[From  "  The  Pickwick  Papers."    By  Charles  Dickens.] 


I OU  know  Doctor's  Commons,  sir  I 
Paul's  churchyard,  sir ;  low  arch- 
way on  the  carriage-side,  bookseller's 
at  one  comer,  hot-el  on  the  other, 
and  two  porters  in  the  middle  as 
touts  for  licenses.' 

"  Touts  for  licenses  1 "  said  Mr.  Pickwick, 
gravely. 

"  Touts  for  licenses,"  replied  Sam. 

"  What  do  they  do  ] "  inquired  his  master, 
smiling  again. 

"  Do  ]  Yon,  sir  !  That  ain't  the  worst  on  it,  neither. 
They  puts  things  into  old  gen'lm'n's  heads  as  they 
never  dreamed  of.  My  father,  sir,  wos  a  coachman. 
A  widower  he  wos,  and  fat  enough  for  anything — 
unconmion  fat,  to  be  sure.  His  missus  dies,  and 
leaves  him  four  hundred  pound.  Down  he  goes  to 
the  Commons,  to  see  the  lawyer  and  draw  the 
blunt — wery  smart — top  boots  on — nosegay  in  his 
button-hole — broad-brimmed  tile — green  shawl — 
quite  the  gen'lm'n.  Goes  through  the  archvay, 
thinking  how  he  should  inwest  the  money — up 
comes  the  touter,  touches  liis  hat :  '  License,  sir, 
license  t '  '  What's  that  ? '  says  my  father. 
'  License,  sir  1 '  says  he.  *  What  license  ] '  says 
my  father.  'Marriage  license,'  says  the  touter. 
'  Dash  my  veskit,'  says  my  father.  '  I  never 
thought  o'  that'  *  I  think  you  vants  one,  sir,'  says 
the  touter.    My  father  pulls  up,  and  thinks  a  bit. 

" '  No,'  says  he,  "  I'm  too  old ;  b'sides,  I'm  a 
many  sizes  too  large,'  says  he.  *  Not  a  bit  on  it, 
sir,^  says  the  touter.  *  Think  not  1 '  says  my 
father.  *  I'm  sure  not,'  says  he  ;  'we  married  a 
gen'lm'n  twice  your  size  last  Monday.'  '  Did  you, 
though  ? '  says  my  father.  '  To  be  sure  we  did,' 
says  the  touter ;  *  you're  a  babby  to  him — this  way, 
sir — this  way  ! ' — and  sure  enough  my  father  walks 
arter,  him,  like  a  tame  monkey  behind  a  horgan, 
into  a  little  back  office,  vere  a  feller  sat  among 
dirty  papers  and  tin  boxes,  making  believe  he  was 
busy. 

" '  Pray  take  a  seat,  vile  I  makes  out  the  affidavit, 
sir,'  says  the  lawyer.  *  Thankee,  sir,'  says  my 
father,  and  down  he  sat,  and  stared  with  all  his 
eyes,  and  his  mouth  vide  open,  at  the  names  on 
the  boxes.  '  What's  your  name,  sir  1 '  says  the 
lawyer.  '  Tony  Weller,'  says  my  father.  '  Parish  1 ' 
says  the  lawyer.  *  Belle  Savage,'  says  my  father  ; 
for  he  stopped  there  wen  he  drove  up,  and  he 
know'd  nothing  about  parishes,  he  didn't.  '  And 
what's  the  lady's  name?'  says  the  lawyer.  ^My 
father  was  struck  all  of  a  heap.  '  Blessed  if  I 
know,'  says  he.  '  Not  know ! '  says  the  lawyer. 
•  No  more  nor  do  you,'  says  my  father.     *  Can't  I 


put  that  in  arterwards  1 '  '  Impossible  I '  says  the 
lawyer.  '  Wery  well,'  says  my  father,  after  he  had 
thought  a  moment,  'put  down  Mrs.  Clarke.' 
'  What  Clarke  1 '  says  the  lawyer,  dipping  his  pen 
in  the  ink.  'Susan  Clarke,  ]\farkis  o'  Granby, 
Dorking,'  says  my  father  ;  '  she'll  have  me  if  I  ask, 
I  des-say.  I  never  said  nothing  to  her,  but  she'll 
have  me,  I  know.'  The  license  was  made  out,  and 
she  did  have  him,  and  what's  more  she's  got  him 
now ;  and  /  never  had  any  of  the  four  hundred 
pound,  worse  luck.  And  that's  how  I  got  a  mother- 
in-law." 

"  Very  good  ;  you  can  go  at  any  hour,  Sam.  I 
shall  be  busy  with  Mr.  Perker." 

As  he  was  sauntering  away  his  spare  time,  and 
stopped  to  look  at  almost  every  object  that  met 
his  gaze,  it  is  by  no  means  surprising  that  Mr. 
Weller  should  have  paused  before  a  small 
stationer's  and  print-seller's  window  :  but,  without 
further  explanation,  it  does  appear  surprising  that 
his  eyes  should  have  no  sooner  rested  on  certain 
pictures  which  were  exposed  for  sale  therein,  than 
he  gave  a  sudden  start,  smote  his  right  leg  with 
great  vehemence,  and  exclaimed  with  energy — 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  this,  I  should  ha' forgot  all 
all  about  it  till  it  was  too  late  ! " 

The  particular  picture  on  which  Sam  Weller's 
eyes  were  fixed,  as  he  said  this,  was  a  highly- 
coloured  representation  of  a  couple  of  human 
hearts  skewered  together  with  an  arrow,  cooking 
before  a  cheerful  fire,  while  a  male  and  female  can- 
nibal in  modern  attire, — the  gentleman  being  clad 
in  a  blue  coat  and  white  trousers,  and  the  lady  in 
a  deep  red  pelisse,  with  a  parasol  of  the  same — were 
approaching  the  meal  with  hungiy  eyes,  up  a 
serpentine  gravel  path  leading  thereunto.  A 
decidedly  indelicate  young  gentleman,  in  a  pair  of 
wings  and  nothing  else,  was  depicted  as  superin- 
tending the  cooking.  A  representation  of  the 
spire  of  the  church  in  Langham  Place  appeared  in 
the  distance  ;  and  the  whole  formed  a  "  valentine," 
of  which,  as  a  written  inscription  in  the  window 
testified,  there  was  a  large  a  assortment  within 
which  the  shop-keeper  pledged  himself  to  dispose 
of  to  his  countrymen  generally  at  the  reduced  rate 
of  one  and  sixpence  each. 

"  I  should  ha'  forgot  it — I  should  certainly  ha' 
forgot  it  I "  said  Sam.  So  saying,  he  at  once  stepped 
into  the  stationer's  shop,  and  requested  to  be 
served  with  a  sheet  of  the  best  gilt-edged  letter- 
paper  and  a  hard-nibbed  pen  which  could  be  war- 
ranted not  to  splutter.  The  articles  having  been 
promptly  supplied,  he  walked  on  direct  towards 
Leadenhall  Market,  at  a  good  round  pace,  veiy 


THE    TWO    WELLERS.       (Ih-awnhy  Gordon  n.-nxfr^.) 


(r.  275.) 


THE   TWO    WELLERS. 


275 


different  from  his  recent  lingering  one.  Looking 
round  him,  he  there  beheld  a  signboard,  on  which 
the  painter's  art  had  delineated  something  reniotely 
resembling  a  cerulean  elephant  with  an  aquiline 
nose  in  lieu  of  a  trunk.  Rightly  conjecturing  that 
this  was  the  Blue  Boar  himself,  he  stepped  into  the 
house,  and  inquired  concerning  his  parent. 

"  He  won't  be  here  this  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
or  more,"  said  the  young  lady  who  superintended 
the  domestic  arrangements  of  the  Blue  Boar. 

"  Wery  good,  my  dear,"  replied  Sam.  "Let  me 
have  nine  penn'orth  o'  brandy  and  water  luke,  and 
the  inkstand,  will  you,  miss  1 " 

The  brandy  and  water  luke  and  the  inkstand 
having  been  carried  into  the  little  parlour,  and  the 
young  lady  having  carefully  flattened  down  the 
coals  to  prevent  their  blazing,  and  carried  away 
the  poker  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  the  fire 
being  stirred  without  the  full  privity  and  concur- 
rence of  the  Blue  Boar  being  first  had  and  obtained, 
Sam  Weller  sat  himself  down  in  a  box  near  the 
stove,  and  pulled  out  the  sheet  of  gilt-edged  letter- 
paper  and  the  hard-nibbed  pen.  Then,  looking 
carefully  at  the  pen  to  see  that  there  were  no  hairs 
in  it,  and  dusting  down  the  table  so  that  there 
might  be  no  crumbs  of  bread  under  the  paper,  Sam 
tucked  up  the  cuff's  of  his  coat,  squared  his  elbows, 
and  composed  himself  to  write. 

To  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  are  not  in  the  habit 
of  devoting  themselves  practically  to  the  science  of 
penmanship,  writing  a  letter  is  no  very  easy  task ;  it 
being  always  considered  necessary  in  such  cases  for 
the  writer  to  recline  his  head  on  his  left  arm,  so  as 
to  place  his  eyes  as  nearly  as  possible  on  a  level 
with  the  paper,  and,  while  glancing  sideways  at  the 
letters  he  is  constructing,  to  form  with  his  tongue 
imaginary  characters  to  correspond.  These 
motions,  although  unquestionably  of  the  greatest 
assistance  to  original  composition,  retard  in  some 
degree  the  progress  of  the  writer  ;  and  Sam  had, 
unconsciously,  been  a  full  hour  and  a  half  writing 
words  in  small  text,  smearing  out  wrong  letters 
with  his  little  finger,  and  putting  in  new  ones  which 
required  going  over  very  often  to  render  them 
visible  through  the  old  blots,  when  he  was  roused 
by  the  opening  of  the  door  and  the  entrance  of  his 
parent. 

"  Veil,  Sammy,"  said  the  father. 

Mr.  Weller,  senior,  was  a  very  stout,  red-faced, 
elderly  gentleman,  wrapped  up  to  the  chin  in  as 
many  clothes  as  possible,  which  is  a  stage-coach- 
man's idea  of  comfort  and  perfection  in  apparels. 
When  he  had  disembarrassed  himself  of  enough 
outer  wraps  to  have  clothed  a  charity  school 
tolerably,  he  took  a  chair,  and  continued  : 

"But  wot's  that  you're  a-doin'  of— pursuit  of 
knowledge  under  difficulties— eh,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  I've  done  now,"  said  Sam  with  slight  embar- 
rassment ;  "  I've  been  a-writin'." 


"  So  I  see,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "  Not  to  any 
young  'ooman,  I  hope,  Sammy." 

"  Why  it's  no  use  a-saying  it  ain't,"  replied  Sam. 
"  It's  a  walentine." 

"  A  what  1 "  exclaimed  Mr.  Weller,  apparently 
horror-stricken  by  the  word. 

"  A  walentine,"  replied  Sam. 

"Samivel,  Samivel,"  said  Miv  Weller,  in  re- 
proachful accents,  "  I  didn't  think  you'd  ha'  done 
it.  Arter  the  warnin'  you've  had  o'  your  father's 
wicious  propensities ;  arter  all  I've  said  to  you  upon 
this  here  wery  subject ;  arter  actiwally  seein'  and 
bein'  in  the  company  o'  your  own  mother-in-law, 
vich  I  should  ha'  thought  wos  a  moral  lesson  as  no 
man  could  never  ha'  forgotten  to  his  dyin'  day — I 
didn't  think  you'd  ha'  done  it,  Sammy, — I  didn't 
think  you'd  ha'  done  it ! " 

These  reflections  were  too  much  for  the  good 
old  man.  He  raised  Sam's  tumbler  to  his  lips,  and 
drank  off"  its  contents. 

"  Wot's  the  matter  now  1 "  said  Sam. 

"Nev'r  mind,  Sammy,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "  It'll 
be  a  wery  agonisin'  trial  to  me  at  my  time  of 
life,  but  I'm  pretty  tough,  that's  vun  consolation, 
as  the  wery  old  turkey  remarked,  wen  the  farmer 
said  he  was  afeared  he  should  be  obliged  to  kill 
him  for  the  London  market." 

"  Wot'U  be  a  trial  ? "  inquired  Sam. 

"  To  see  you  married,  Sammy — to  see  you  a  de- 
luded wictim,  and  thinking  in  your  innocence  that 
it's  all  wery  capital,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "  It's  a 
dreadful  trial  to  a  father's  feelin's,  that  'ere,  Sammy." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Sam.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  get 
married — don't  fret  yourself  about  that.  I  know 
you're  a  judge  o'  these  things.  Order  in  your  pipe, 
and  I'll  read  you  the  letter — there." 

Sam  dipped  his  pen  into  the  ink  to  be  ready  for 
any  corrections,  and  began — 

"  '  Lovely  creetur ' " 

"  Stop,"  said  his  father.  He  rang.  "  A  drop  of 
the  inwariable  ! "  he  ordered  of  the  barmaid,  who 
promptly  obeyed  the  command. 

"  They  seem  to  know  your  ways  here,"  observed 
Sam. 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  father  ;  "  I've  been  here  before 
in  my  time.     Go  on,  Sammy." 

"  '  Lovely  creetur',"  repeated  Sam. 

"  'Taint  in  poetry,  is  it  1 "  interposed  his  father. 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Sam. 

"Wery  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Weller. 
"Poetry's  unnat'ral ;  no  man  ever  talked  poetry  'cept 
a  beadle  on  Boxin'  day,  or  Warren's  blackin',  or 
Rowland's  oil,  or  some  o'  them  low  fellows  ;  never 
you  let  yourself  down  to  talk  poetry,  my  boy. 
Begin  agin,  Sammy." 

Mr.  Weller  resumed  his  pipe  with  critical 
solemnity,  and  Sam  once  more  commenced,  and 
read  as  follows  : 


276 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  '  Lovely  creetur  i  feel  myself  a  dammed ' " 

"  That  ain't  proper,"  said  Mr.  Weller  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"  No,  it  ain't '  dammed,'  "  observed  Sam,  holding 
the  letter  up  to  the  light,  "  it's  '  shamed ' — there's  a 
blot  there — '  I  feel  myself  ashamed.' " 

"  Wery  good,"  said  Mr.  Weller.     "  Go  on." 

"  '  Feel  myself  ashamed  and  completely  cir 

I  forget  what  this  here  word  is,"  said  Sam,  scratch- 
ing his  head  with  the  pen,  in  vain  attempts  to 
remember. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  it,  then  1 "  inquired  Mr. 
Weller. 

"So  I  am  a-lookin'  at  it,"  replied  Sam,  "but 
there's  another  blot.  Here's  a  '  c,'  and  a  '  i,'  and  a 
'd.'" 

"  Circumwented  p'r'aps,"  suggested  Mr.  Weller. 

"  No  it  ain't  that,"  said  Sam ;  "  circumscribed  ; 
that's  it." 

"That  ain't  as  good  a  word  as  circumwented, 
Sammy,"  said  ^Ir.  Weller  gravely. 

"  Think  not  I "'  said  Sam. 

"  Xothin'  like  it,"  replied  his  father. 

"  But  don't  you  think  it  means  more  ]  "  inquired 
Sam. 

"  Veil,  p'r'aps  it  is  a  more  tenderer  word,"  said 
Mr.  Weller,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection.  "  Go 
on,  Sammy." 

" '  Feel  myself  ashamed  and  completely  circum- 
scribed in  a-dressin'  of  you,  for  you  are  a  nice  gal, 
and  nothin'  but  it.'  " 

"  That's  a  wery  pretty  sentiment,"  said  the  elder 
Mr.  Weller,  removing  his  pipe  to  m  ikc  way  for  the 
remark. 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  rayther  good,"  observed  Sam, 
highly  flattered. 

"  Wot  I  like  in  that  'ere  style  of  writin',''  said  the 
elder  Mr.  Weller,  "  is,  that  there  ain't  no  calling 
names  in  it — no  Wenuses,  nor  nothin'  o'  that  kin  1. 
Wot's  the  good  o'  callin'  a  young  'ooman  a  Wenus 
or  a  angel,  Sammy  ? " 

"  Ah !  what  indeed  1 "  replied  Sam. 

"  You  might  jist  as  well  call  her  a  griffin,  or  a 


unicorn,  or  a  king's  arms  at  once,  which  is  wery 
well  known  to  be  a  collection  o'  fabulous  animals," 
added  Mr.  Weller. 

"  Just  as  well,"  replied  Sam. 

"  Drive  on,  Sammy,"  said  Mr.  Weller. 

Sam  complied  with  the  retiuest,  and  proceeded 
as  follows — his  father  continuing  to  smoke,  with  a 
mixed  expression  of  wisdom  and  complacency, 
which  was  particularly  edifying. 

"  '  Afore  I  see  you,  I  thought  all  women  was 
alike.' " 

"So  they  are,"  observed  the  elder  Mr.  Weller, 
parenthetically. 

"  *  But  now,' "  continued  Sam — "  '  now  I  find 
what  a  reg'lar  soft-headed  inkred'lous  turnip  I 
must  ha'  been ;  for  there  ain't  nobody  like  you, 
though  /  like  you  better  than  nothin'  at  all.'  I 
thought  it  best  to  make  that  rayther  strong," 
said  Sam,  looking  up. 

Mr.  Weller  nodded  approvingly,  and  Sam  re- 
sumed : 

" '  So  I  take  the  privilege  of  the  day,  Mary,  my 
dear — as  the  gen'lm'n  in  difficulties  did,  ven  he 
valked  out  of  a  Sunday — to  tell  you  that  the  first  and 
only  time  I  see  you  your  likeness  was  took  on  my 
hart  in  much  quicker  time  and  brighter  colours 
than  ever  a  likeness  was  took  by  the  profeel  macheen 
(wich  p'r'aps  you  may  have  heerd  on,  j\Iary,  my 
dear),  altho'  it  does  finish  a  portrait,  and  put  the 
frame  and  glass  on  complete  with  a  hook  at  the 
end  to  hang  it  up  by,  and  all  in  two  minutes  and  a 
quarter.' " 

"  I'm  afeered  that  werges  on  the  jjoetical, 
Sammy,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  dubiously. 

"No  it  don't,"  replied  Sam,  reading  on  very 
quickly,  to  avoid  contesting  the  point — 

"  '  Except  of  me,  Mary,  my  dear,  as  your  walen- 
tine,  and  think  over  what  I've  said^my  dear  Mary, 
I  will  now  conclude.'    That's  all,"  said  Sam. 

"  That's  rayther  a  sudden  pull  up,  ain't  it, 
Sammy  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Weller. 

"  Not  a  bit  on  it,"  said  Sam  ;  "  she'll  vish  there 
wos  more,  and  that's  the  great  art  o'  letter  writin'." 


THE    APPLE    DUMPLINGS    AND    A    KING. 


[By  Dr.  V/olcot.] 


^NCE    on   a    time,  a   mcn?rch,  tired  with 
whooping, 
Whipping  and  spurring, 
Happy  in  worrying 
A  poor  defenceless,  harmless  buck — 
The  horse  and  rider  wet  as  muck — 


From  his  high  consequence  and  wisdom  stooping, 
Entered  through  curiosity  a  cot. 
Where  sat  a  poor  old  woman  and  her  pot. 

The  wrinkled,  blear-eyed,  good  old  granny, 
In  this  same  cot,  illumed  by  many  a  cranny, 


THE   APPLE   DUMPLINGS   AND   A    KING. 


277 


Had  finished  apple  dumplings  for  her  pot : 
In  tempting  row  the  naked  dumplings  lay, 
When  lo  !  the  monarch  in  his  usual  way, 

Like    lightning    spoke :    "  What's    this  1    what's 
this  1  what,  what  1 " 

Then  taking  up  a  dumpling  in  his  hand, 
His  eyes  with  admiration  did  expand  ; 


Strange  I  should  never  of  a  dumpling  dream  ! 
But,  goody,  tell  me  where,  where,  where's  the  seam  1 " 

"  Sir,  there's  no  seam,"  quoth  she  ;  "  I  ne'er  did 

know 
That  folks  did  apple  dumplings  seu'." 
"  No  !  "  cried  the  staring  monarch,  with  a  grin  ; 
"  How,  how  the  devil  got  the  apple  in  1 '' 


'  Wheke's  the  seam  ' ' 


And  oft  did  majesty  the  dumpling  grapple  : 
He    cried  :    "  'Tis  monstrous,    monstrous    hard, 

indeed ! 
What  makes  it,  pray,  so  hard  1 " 
The  dame  replied, 
Low  curtsying:  "  Please  your  majesty,  the  apple." 

"  Very  astonishing,  indeed  !  strange  thing  ! " — 
Turning  the  dumpling  round— rejoined  the  king. 
"  'Tis  most  extraordinary,  then,  all  this  is — 
It  beats  Pinette's  conjuring  all  to  pieces  ; 


On    which    the    dame    the    curious    scheme   re- 
vealed 
By  which  the  apple  lay  so  sly  concealed, 

Which  made  the  Solomon  of  Britain  start  , 
Who  to  the  palace  with  full  speed  repaired, 
And  queen  and  xirincesses  so  beauteous  scared 

All  with  the  wonders  of  the  dumpling  art. 
There  did  he  labour  one  whole  week  to  show 

The  wisdom  of  an  apple  dumpling  maker  ; 
And  lo  !  so  deep  was  majesty  in  dough. 

The  palace  seemed  the  lodging  of  a  baker ! 


278 


GLEANINGS    FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


THE    PIT    AND    THE    PENDULUM. 

[By  Edgar  Allan  Poe.] 


WAS  sick — sick  unto  death  with  that 
long  agony ;  and  when  they  at  length 
imbound  me,  and  I  was  permitted  to  sit, 
I  felt  that  my  senses  were  leaving  me. 
The  sentence  —  the  dread  sentence  of 
death — was  the  last  of  distinct  accentua- 
tion which  reached  my  ears.  After  that, 
the  sound  of  the  inquisitorial  voices 
seemed  merged  in  one  dreamy  indeterminate  hum. 
It  conveyed  to  my  soul  the  idea  of  revolution — per- 
haps from  its  association  in  fancy  with  the  burr  of 
a  mill-wheel  This  only  for  a  brief  period  ;  for 
presently  I  heard  no  more.  Then  silence,  and 
stillness,  and  night  were  the  universe. 

I  had  swooned,  but  still  will  not  say  that  all  of 
jonsciousness  was  lost.  What  of  it  there  remained 
I  will  not  attempt  to  define,  or  even  to  describe  ; 
yet  all  was  not  lost.  In  the  deepest  slumber — no  1 
In  delirium — no !  In  a  swoon — no !  In  death — 
no  I  Even  in  the  grave  all  is  not  lost.  Else  there 
is  no  immortality  for  man. 

Very  suddenly  there  came  back  to  my  soul 
motion  and  sound — the  tumultuous  motion  of  the 
heart,  and  in  my  ears  the  sound  of  its  beating. 
Then  a  pause  in  which  all  is  blank.  Then  again 
sound,  and  motion,  and  touch — a  tingling  sensation 
pervading  my  frame.  Then  the  mere  conscious- 
ness of  existence,  without  thought — a  condition 
which  lasted  long.  Then,  very  suddenly,  thought, 
and  shuddering  terror,  and  earnest  endeavour  to 
comprehend  my  true  state.  Then  a  strong  desire 
to  lapse  into  insensibility.  Then  a  rushing  revival 
of  soul  and  a  successful  eflFort  to  move.  And  now 
a  full  memory  of  the  trial,  of  the  judges,  of  the 
sable  draperies,  of  the  sentence,  of  the  sickness, 
of  the  swoon.  Then  entire  forgetfulness  of  all 
that  followed — of  all  that  a  later  day  and  mucli 
earnestness  of  endeavour  have  enabled  me  vaguely 
to  recall. 

So  far,  I  had  not  opened  my  eyes.  I  felt  that  I 
lay  upon  my  back,  unbound,  I  reached  out  my 
hand,  and  it  fell  heavily  upon  something  damp  and 
hard.  There  I  suffered  it  to  remain  for  many 
minutes,  while  I  strove  to  imagine  where  and  whcit 
I  could  be.  I  longed,  yet  dared  not  to  employ  my 
vision.  I  dreaded  the  first  glance  at  objects  around 
me.  It  was  not  that  I  feared  to  look  upon  things 
horrible,  but  that  I  grew  aghast  lest  there  should  be 
nothing  to  see.  At  length,  with  a  wild  desperation 
at  heart,  I  quickly  unclosed  my  eyes.  My  worst 
thoughts  then  were  confirmed.  The  blackness  of 
eternal  night  encompassed  me.  I  struggled  for 
breath.  The  intensity  of  the  darkness  seemed  to 
oppress  and  stifle  me,     The  atmosphere  was  in- 


tolerably close.  I  still  lay  quietly,  and  made  effort 
to  exercise  my  reason.  I  brought  to  mind  the 
inquisitorial  proceedings,  and  attempted  from  that 
point  to  deduce  my  real  condition.  The  sentence 
had  passed,  and  it  appeared  to  me  that  a  very  long 
interval  of  time  had  since  elapsed.  Yet  not  for  a 
moment  did  I  suppose  myself  actually  dead.  Such 
a  supposition,  notwithstanding  what  we  read  in 
fiction,  is  altogether  inconsistent  with  real  ex- 
istence ;  but  where  and  in  what  state  was  1 1  The 
condemned  to  death,  I  knew,  perished  usually  at 
the  "  auto-da-fes,"  and  one  of  these  had  been  held 
on  the  very  night  of  the  day  of  my  trial.  Had  I 
been  remanded  to  my  dungeon  to  await  the  next 
sacrifice,  which  would  not  take  place  for  many 
months  ]  This  I  at  once  saw  could  not  be.  Vic- 
tims had  been  in  immediate  demand.  Moreover, 
my  dungeon,  as  well  as  all  the  condemned  cells  at 
Toledo,  had  stone  floors,  and  light  was  not  alto- 
gether excluded, 

A  fearful  idea  now  suddenly  drove  the  blood  in 
torrents  upon  my  heart,  and,  for  a  prief  period,  I 
once  more  relapsed  into  insensibility.  Upon  re- 
covering, I  at  once  started  to  my  feet,  trembling 
convulsively  in  every  fibre.  I  thrust  my  arms 
wildly  above  and  around  me  in  all  directions.  I 
felt  nothing  ;  yet  dreaded  to  move  a  step,  lest  I 
should  be  impeded  by  the  walls  of  a  tomh.  Per- 
spiration burst  from  every  pore,  and  stood  in  cold 
big  beads  upon  my  forehead.  The  agony  of  sus- 
pense grew  at  length  intolerable,  and  I  cautiously 
moved  forward,  with  my  arms  extended,  and  my 
eyes  straining  from  their  sockets,  in  the  hope  of 
catching  some  faint  ray  of  light.  I  proceeded  for 
many  paces ;  but  still  all  was  blackness  and 
vacancy.  I  breathed  more  freely:  It  seemed 
evident  that  mine  was  not,  at  least,  the  most 
hideous  of  fates. 

And  now,  as  I  still  continued  to  step  cautiovisly 
onward,  there  came  thronging  upon  my  recollec- 
tion a  thousand  vague  rumours  of  the  horrors  of 
Toledo.  Of  the  dungeons  there  had  been  strange 
things  narrated — fables  I  had  always  deemed  them 
— ^but  yet  strange  and  too  ghastly  to  repeat,  save 
in  a  whisper. 

My  outstretched  hands  at  length  encountered 
some  solid  obstruction.  It  was  a  wall,  seemingly 
of  stone  masonry — very  smooth,  slimy,  and  cold. 
I  followed  it  up  ;  stepping  with  all  the  careful  dis- 
trust with  which  certain  antique  narratives  had 
inspired  me.  This  process,  however,  afforded  me 
no  means  of  ascertaining  the  dimensions  of  my 
dungeon  ;  as  I  might  make  its  circuit,  and  return 
to  the  point  whence  I  set  out,  without  being  aware 


THE   PIT   AND   THE   PENDULUM. 


279 


of  the  fact — so  perfectly  unifonn  seemed  the  wall. 
I  therefore  sought  the  knife  which  had  been  in  my 
pocket  when  led  to  the  inquisitorial  chamber.  But 
it  was  gone  ;  my  clothes  had  been  exchanged  for  a 
wrapper  of  coarse  serge.  I  had  thought  of  forcing 
the  blade  in  some  minute  crevice  of  the  masonry, 
so  as  to  identify  my  point  of  departure.  The 
difficulty  nevertheless  was  but  trivial ;  although,  in 
the  disorder  of  my  fancy,  it  seemed  at  first  insuper- 
able. I  tore  a  part  of  the  hem  from  the  robe,  and 
placed  the  fragment  at  full  length,  and  at  right 
angles  to  the  wall.  In  groping  my  way  around  the 
prison,  I  could  not  fail  to  encounter  this  rag  upon 
completing  the  circuit.  So,  at  least,  I  thought ; 
but  I  had  not  counted  upon  the  extent  of  the 
dungeon,  or  upon  my  own  weakness.  The  ground 
was  moist  and  slippery.  I  staggered  onward  for 
some  time,  when  I  stumbled  and  fell.  My  ex- 
cessive fatigue  induced  me  to  remain  prostrate* 
and  sleep  soon  overtook  me  as  I  lay. 

Upon  awaking,  and  stretching  forth  an  arm,  I 
found  beside  me  a  loaf  and  a  pitcher  with  water. 
I  was  too  much  exhausted  to  reflect  upon  this 
circumstance,  but  ate  and  drank  with  avidity. 
Shortly  afterward  I  resumed  my  tour  around  the 
prison,  and,  with  much  toil,  came  at  last  upon  the 
fragment  of  the  serge.  Up  to  the  period  when  I 
fell,  I  had  counted  fifty-two  paces,  and,  upon  re- 
suming my  walk,  had  counted  forty-eight  more 
when  I  arrived  at  the  rag.  There  were  in  all, 
then,  a  hundred  paces  ;  and,  admitting  two  paces 
to  the  yard,  I  presumed  the  dungeon  to  be  fifty 
yards  in  circuit.  I  had  met,  however,  with  many 
angles  in  the  wall,  and  thus  I  could  form  no  guess 
at  the  shape  of  the  vault— for  vault  I  could  not 
help  supposing  it  to  be. 

I  had  little  object— certainly  no  hope — in  these 
researches  ;  but  a  vague  curiosity  prompted  me  to 
continue  them.  Quitting  the  wall,  I  resolved  to 
cross  the  area  of  the  enclosure.  At  first  I  pro- 
ceeded with  extreme  caution ;  for  the  floor,  although 
seemingly  of  solid  material,  was  treacherous  with 
slime.  At  length,  however,  I  took  courage,  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  step  firmly — endeavouring  to 
cross  in  as  direct  a  line  as  possible.  I  had  advanced 
some  ten  or  twelve  paces  in  this  manner  when  the 
remnant  of  the  torn  hem  of  my  robe  became 
entangled  between  my  legs.  I  stepped  on  it,  and 
fell  violently  on  my  face. 

-  In  the  confusion  attending  my  fall,  I  did  not 
immediately  apprehend  a  somewhat  startling  cir- 
cumstance, which  yet,  in  a  few  seconds  afterward, 
and  while  I  still  lay  prostrate,  arrested  my  atten- 
tion. It  was  this  :  my  chin  rested  upon  the  floor 
of  the  prison,  but  my  lips  aud  the  upper  portion 
of  my  head,  although  seemingly  at  a  less  elevation 
than  the  chin,  touched  nothing.  At  the  same  time, 
my  forehead  seemed  bathed  in  a  clammy  vapour, 
and  the  peculiar  smell  of  decayed  fungus  arose  to 


my  nostrils.  I  put  forward  my  arm,  and  shuddered 
to  find  that  I  had  fallen  at  the  very  brink  of  a 
circular  pit,  whose  extent,  of  course,  I  had  no  means 
of  ascertaining  at  the  moment.  Groping  about 
the  masonry  just  below  the  margin,  I  succeeded  in 
dislodging  a  small  fragment,  and  let  it  fall  into  the 
abyss.  For  many  seconds  I  hearkened  to  its 
reverberations,  as  it  dashed  against  the  sides  of  the 
chasm  in  its  descent ;  at  length  there  was  a  sudden 
plunge  into  water,  succeeded  by  loud  echoes.  At 
the  same  moment  there  came  a  sound  resembling  the 
quick  opening  and  as  rapid  closing  of  a  door  over- 
head, while  a  faint  gleam  of  light  flashed  suddenly 
through  the  gloom,  and  as  suddenly  faded  aAvay. 

I  saw  clearly  the  doom  which  had  been  prepared 
for  me,  and  congratulated  myself  upon  the  timely 
accident  by  which  I  had  escaped.  Another  step 
before  my  fall,  and  the  world  had  seen  me  no 
more  ;  and  the  death,  just  avoided,  was  of  that 
very  character  which  I  had  regarded  as  fabulous 
and  frivolous  in  the  tales  respecting  the  Inquisi- 
tion. To  the  victims  of  its  tyranny  there  was  the 
choice  of  death  with  its  direst  physical  agonies,  or 
death  with  its  most  hideous  moral  horrors.  I  had 
been  reserved  for  the  latter. 

Shaking  in  every  limb,  I  groped  my  way  back  to 
the  wall — resolving  there  to  perish  rather  than 
risk  the  terrors  of  the  wells,  of  which  my  imagina- 
tion now  pictured  many  in  various  positions  about 
the  dungeon.  In  other  conditions  of  mind  I  might 
have  had  courage  to  end  my  misery  at  once,  by  a 
plunge  into  one  of  these  abysses  ;  but  now  I  was 
the  veriest  of  cowards.  Neither  could  I  forget 
what  I  had  read  of  these  pits — that  the  sudden 
extinction  of  life  formed  no  part  of  their  most 
horrible  plan. 

Agitation  of  spirit  kept  me  awake  for  many  long 
hours ;  but  at  length  I  again  slumbered.  Upon 
arousing,  I  found  by  my  side,  as  before,  a  loaf  and 
a  pitcher  of  water.  A  burning  thirst  consumed 
me,  and  I  emptied  the  vessel  at  a  draught.  It 
must  have  been  drugged — for  scarcely  had  I  drunk 
before  I  became  irresistibly  drowsy.  A  deep  sleep 
fell  upon  me — a  sleep  like  that  of  death.  How 
long  it  lasted,  of  course  I  knew  not ;  but  when 
once  again  I  unclosed  my  eyes,  the  objects  around 
me  were  visible.  By  a  wild,  sulphurous  lustre,  the 
origin  of  which  I  could  not  at  first  determine,  I 
was  enabled  to  see  the  extent  and  aspect  of  the 
prison. 

In  its  size  I  had  been  greatly  mistaken.  The 
whole  circuit  of  its  walls  did  not  exceed  twenty- 
five  yards.  In  my  first  attempt  at  exploration  I 
had  counted  fifty-two  paces,  up  to  the  period  when 
I  fell ;  I  must  then  have  been  within  a  pace  or 
two  of  the  fragment  of  serge — in  fact,  I  had  nearly 
performed  the  circuit  of  the  vault.  I  then  slept, 
and,  upou  awaking,  I  must  have  returned  upon 
my  steps — thus  supposing  the  circuit  nearly  double 


280 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


what  it  actually  w  as.  My  confusion  of  mind  pre- 
vented me  from  observing  that  I  began  my  tour 
with  the  wall  to  the  left,  and  ended  it  with  the 
wall  to  the  right. 

I  had  been  deceived,  too,  in  respect  to  the  shape 
of  the  enclosure.  In  feeling  my  way,  I  had  found 
many  angles,  and  thus  deduced  an  idea  of  great 
irregularity  ;  so  potent  is  the  eflfect  of  total  dark- 
ness upon  one  arousing  from  lethargy  or  sleep. 
The  angles  were  simply  those  of  a  few  slight  de- 
pressions, or  niches,  at  odd  intervals.  The  general 
shape  of  the  prison  was  square.  What  I  had  taken 
for  masonry  seemed  now  to  be  iron,  or  some  other 
metal,  in  huge  plates,  whose  sutures  or  joints 
occasioned  the  depression.  The  entire  surface  of 
this  metallic  enclosure  was  rudely  daubed  in  all 
the  hideous  and  repulsive  devices  to  which  the 
chamel  superstition  of  the  monks  has  given  rise. 
The  figures  of  tiends  in  aspects  of  menace,  with 
skeleton  forms,  and  other  more  really  fearful 
images,  overspread  and  disfigured  the  walls.  I 
observed  that  the  outlines  of  these  monstrosities 
were  sufficiently  distinct,  but  that  the  colours 
seemed  faded  and  blurred,  as  if  from  the  effect  of 
a  damp  atmosphere.  I  now  noticed  the  floor,  too, 
which  was  of  stone.  In  the  centre  yawned  the 
circular  pit  from  whose  jaws  I  had  escaped  ;  but 
it  was  the  only  one  in  the  dungeon. 

All  this  I  saw  indistinctly  and  by  much  effort 
— for  my  personal  condition  had  been  greatly 
changed  during  slumber.  I  now  lay  upon  my 
back,  and  at  full  length,  on  a  species  of  low  frame- 
work of  wood.  To  this  I  was  securely  bound  by  a 
long  strap  resembling  a  surcingle.  It  passed  in 
many  convolutions  about  my  limbs  and  body, 
leaving  at  liberty  only  my  head,  and  my  left  arm 
to  such  extent  that  I  coiUd,  by  dint  of  much^ex- 
ertion,  supply  myself  with  food  from  an  earthen 
dish  which  lay  by  my  side  on  the  floor.  I  saw,  to 
my  horror,  that  the  pitcher  had  been  removed.  I 
say  to  my  horror,  for  I  was  consumed  with  in- 
tolerable tliirst.  This  thirst  it  appeared  to  be  the 
design  of  my  persecutoi-s  to  stimulate — for  the 
food  in  the  dish  was  pungently  seasoned. 

Looking  upward,  I  surveyed  the  ceiling  of  my 
prison.  It  was  some  thirty  or  forty  feet  overhead, 
and  constructed  much  as  the  side  walls.  In  one 
of  its  panels  a  very  singular  figure  riveted  my 
whole  attention.  It  was  the  painted  figure  of  Time 
as  he  is  commonly  represented,  save  that,  in  lieu 
of  a  scythe,  he  held  what,  at  a  casual  glance,  I 
supposed  to  be  the  pictured  image  of  a  huge  pen- 
dulum, such  as  Ave  see  on  antitiue  clocks.  There 
was  something,  however,  in  the  ai)pearance  of  this 
machine  which  caused  me  to  regard  it  more  atten- 
tively. While  I  gazed  directly  up  at  it  (for  its 
position  was  immediately  over  my  own),  I  fancied 
that  I  saw  it  in  motion.  In  an  instant  afterward 
the  fancy  was  confirmed.     Its  sweep  was  brief, 


and  of  course  slow.  I  watched  it  for  some  minutes, 
somewhat  in  fear,  but  more  in  wonder.  Wearied 
at  length  with  observing  its  dull  movement,  I 
tunied  my  eyes  upon  the  other  objects  in  the  cell. 

A  slight  noise  attracted  my  notice,  and  looking 
to  the  floor,  I  saw  several  enormous  rats  traversing 
it.  They  had  issued  from  the  well,  which  lay  just 
within  view  to  my  right.  Even  then,  Avhile  I 
g-azed,  they  came  up  in  troops,  hurriedly,  with 
ravenous  eyes,  allured  by  the  scent  of  the  meat. 
From  this  it  required  much  effort  and  attention  to 
scare  them  away. 

It  might  have  been  half-an-hour,  perhaps  even 
an  hour  (for  I  could  take  but  imperfect  note  of 
time),  before  I  again  cast  my  eyes  upward.  What 
I  then  saw  confounded  and  amazed  me.  The 
sweep  of  the  pendulum  had  increased  in  extent  by 
nearly  a  yard.  As  a  natural  consequence,  its 
velocity  was  also  much  greater.  But  what  mainly 
disturbed  me  was  the  idea  that  it  had  perceptibly 
descended.  I  noAV  observed — with  what  horror  it 
is  needless  to  say — that  its  nether  extremity  was 
formed  of  a  crescent  of  glittering  steel,  about  a 
foot  in  length  from  horn  to  horn ;  the  horns  up- 
ward, and  the  other  edge  evidently  as  keen  as 
that  of  a  razor.  Like  a  razor,  also,  it  seemed 
massy  and  heavy,  tapering  from  the  edge  into  a 
solid  and  broad  structure  above.  It  was  appended 
to  a  weighty  rod  of  brass,  and  the  whole  hissed  as 
it  swung  through  the  air. 

I  could  no  longer  doubt  the  doom  prepared  for 
me  by  monkish  ingenuity  in  torture. 

What  boots  it  to  tell  of  the  long,  long  hours  of 
horror  more  than  mortal,  during  which  I  counted 
the  rushing  oscillations  of  the  steel  1  Inch  by  inch 
— line  by  line — with  a  descent  only  appreciable  at 
intervals  that  seemed  ages — down  and  still  down 
it  came  !  Days  p.assed — it  might  have  been  tmt 
many  days  passed — ere  it  swept  so  closely  over  me 
as  to  fan  me  with  its  acrid  breath.  The  odour  o+' 
the  sharp  steel  forced  itself  into  my  nostrils.  I 
prayed — I  wearied  heaven  with  my  prayer  for  its 
more  speedy  descent.  I  grew  frantically  mad,  and 
struggled  to  force  myself  upward  against  the  sweep 
of  the  fearful  scimitar.  And  then  I  fell  suddenly 
calm,  and  lay  smiling  at  the  glittering  death,  as  a 
child  at  some  rare  bauble. 

There  was  another  interval  of  utter  insensibility  ; 
it  was  brief ;  for,  upon  again  lapsing  into  life,  there 
had  been  no  perceptible  descent  in  the  pendulum. 
But  it  might  have  been  long,  for  I  knew  there 
were  demons  who  took  note  of  my  swoon,  and 
who  could  have  arrested  the  vibration  at  pleasure. 
Upon  my  recovery,  too,  I  felt  very — oh,  inex- 
pressibly—sick and  weak,  as  if  through  long  inani- 
tion. Even  amid  the  agonies  of  that  period,  tie 
human  nature  craved  food.  With  painful  effort  I 
outstretched  my  left  arm  as  far  as  my  bonds  per- 
mitted, and  took  possession  of  the  small  remnant 


THE   PIT   AND   THE   PENDULUM. 


281 


which  had  been  spared  me  by  the  rats.  As  I  put 
a  portion  of  it  within  my  lips,  there  rushed  to  my 
mind  a  half-formed  thought  of  joy— of  hope.  Yet 
what  business  had  /  with  hope  1  It  was,  as  I  say, 
a  half-formed  thought — man  has  many  such,  which 


and  repeat  its  operations — again — and  again.  Not- 
withstanding its  terrifically  wide  sweep  (some 
thirty  feet  or  more),  and  the  hissing  vigour  of  its 
descent,  sufficient  to  sunder  these  very  walls  of 
iron,  still  the  fraying  of  my  robe  would  be  all  that 


'  Down  and  still  down  it  came." 


are  never  completed.  I  felt  that  it  was  of  joy — 
hope ;  but  I  felt  also  that  it  had  perished  in  its 
formation.  In  vain  I  struggled  to  perfect — to 
regain  it.  Long  suffering  had  nearly  annihilated 
all  my  ordinary  powers  of  mind.  I  was  an  im- 
becile— an  idiot. 

The  vibration  of  the  pendulum  was  at  right 

angles  to  my  length.     I  saw  that  the  crescent  was 

designed  to  cross  the  region  of  the  heart.     It 

tvould  fray  the  serge  of  my  robe — it  would  return 

9.  J 


for  several  minutes  it  would  accomplisL  And  at 
this  thought  I  paused.  I  dared  not  go  farther 
than  this  reflection.  I  dwelt  upon  it  with  a  per- 
tinacity of  attention,  as  if,  in  so  dwelling,  I  could 
arrest  here  the  descent  of  the  steel.  I  forced  my- 
self to  ponder  upon  the  sound  of  the  crescent  as  it 
should  pass  across  the  garment — upon  the  peculiar 
thrilling  sensation  which  the  friction  of  cloth  pro- 
duces on  the  nerves.  I  pondered  upon  all  this 
frivolity  until  my  teeth  were  on  edge. 


282 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


DoAvn — steadily  down  it  crept.  I  took  a  frenzied 
pleasure  in  contrasting  its  do^^^lward  with  its 
lateral  velocity.  To  the  right — to  the  left — far 
and  wide — with  the  shriek  of  a  damned  spirit !  to 
my  heart,  with  the  stealthy  pace  of  a  tiger  ! 

Down — certainly,  relentlessly  down  !  It  vibrated 
within  three  inches  of  my  bosom!  I  struggled 
violently — furiously — to  free  my  left  arm.  This 
was  free  only  from  the  elbow  to  the  hand.  I  could 
reach  the  latter,  from  the  platter  beside  me,  to  my 
mouth,  with  great  eflfort,  but  no  farther. 

Down — still  unceasingly— still  inevitably  down  ! 
I  gasped  and  struggled  at  each  vibration.  I 
shrunk  convulsively  at  its  every  sweep. 

I  saw  that  some  ten  or  twelve  vibrations  would 
bring  the  steel  in  actual  contact  with  my  robe,  and 
with  this  observation  there  suddenly  came  over  my 
spirit  all  the  keen,  collected  calmness  of  despair. 
For  the  first  time  during  many  hours — or  perhaps 
days — I  thought.  It  now  occurred  to  me  that  the 
bandage  or  surcingle  which  enveloped  me  was 
unique.  I  was  tied  by  no  separate  cord.  The  first 
stroke  of  the  razor-like  crescent  athwart  any  por- 
tion of  the  band  would  so  detach  it  that  it  might 
be  unwound  from  my  person  by  means  of  my  left 
hand.  But  how  fearful,  in  that  case,  the  prox- 
imity of  the  steel !  The  result  of  the  slightest 
struggle,  how  deadly!  Was  it  likely,  moreover, 
that  the  minions  of  the  torturer  had  not  foreseen 
and  provided  for  this  possibility]  Was  it  pro- 
bable that  the  bandage  crossed  my  bosom  in  the 
track  of  the  pendulum  1  Dreading  to  find  my 
faint,  and,  as  it  seemed,  my  last  hope  frustrated,  I 
so  far  elevated  my  head  as  to  obtain  a  distinct 
view  of  my  breast.  The  surcingle  enveloped  my 
Umbs  and  body  close  in  all  directions — save  in  the 
path  of  the  destroying  crescent. 

Scarcely  had  I  dropped  my  head  back  into  its 
original  position,  when  there  flashed  upon  my 
mind  what  I  cannot  better  describe  than  as  the 
unformed  half  of  that  idea  of  deliverance  to  which 
I  have  previously  alluded,  and  of  which  a  moiety 
only  floated  indeterminately  through  my  brain 
when  I  raised  food  to  my  burning  lips.  The  whole 
thought  was  now  present,  feeble,  scarcely  sane, 
scarcely  definite,  but  stiU  entire.  I  proceeded  at 
once,  with  the  nervous  energy  of  despair,  to  attempt 
its  execution. 

For  many  hours  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
low  framework  upon  which  I  lay  had  been  literally 
swarming  with  rats.  They  were  wild,  bold,  rave- 
nous— their  red  eyes  glaring  upon  me  as  if  they 
waited  for  motionlessness  on  my  part  to  make  me 
their  prey.  "  To  what  food,"  I  shudderingly 
reflected,  "have  they  been  accustomed  in  the 
weUr' 

They  had  devoured,  in  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to 
prevent  them,  all  but  a  small  remnant  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  dish.    With  the  particles  of  the  oily 


and  spicy  viand  which  now  remained  I  thoroughly 
rubbed  the  bandage  wherever  I  could  reach  it ; 
then,  raising  my  hand  from  the  floor,  I  lay  breath- 
lessly still. 

At  first  the  ravenous  animals  were  startled  and 
terrified  at  the  change — at  the  cessation  of  move- 
ment. They  shrank  alarmed  back  ;  many  sought 
the  well.  But  this  was  only  for  a  moment :  I  had 
not  counted  in  vain  upon  their  voracity.  Observing 
that  I  remained  without  motion,  one  or  two  of  the 
boldest  leaped  upon  the  frame- work,  and  smelt 
at  the  surcingle.  This  seemed  the  signal  for  a 
general  rush.  Forth  from  the 'well  they  hurried 
in  fresh  troops.  They  clung  to  the  wood — they 
overran  it,  and  leaped  in  hundreds  upon  my  per- 
son. The  measured  movement  of  the  pendulum 
disturbed  them  not  at  all.  Avoiding  its  strokes, 
they  busied  themselves  with  the  anointed  bandaga 
They  pressed,  they  swarmed  upon  me  in  ever- 
accumulating  heaps.  They  writhed  upon  my 
throat ;  their  cold  lips  sought  my  own  ;  I  was 
half  stifled  by  their  thronging  pressure  ;  disgust, 
for  which  the  world  has  no  name,  swelled  my 
bosom,  and  chilled,  with  a  heavy  clamminess,  my 
heart.  Yet  one  minute,  and  I  felt  that  the  struggle 
would  be  over.  Plainly  I  perceived  the  loosening 
of  the  bandage.  I  knew  that  in  more  than  one 
place  it  must  be  already  severed.  With  a  more 
than  human  resolution,  I  lay  still. 

Nor  had  I  erred  in  my  calculations — nor  had  I 
endured  in  vain.  I  at  length  felt  that  I  was  free. 
The  surcingle  hung  in  ribbons  from  my  body ; 
but  the  stroke  of  the  pendulum  already  pressed 
upon  my  bosom.  It  had  divided  the  serge  of  the 
robe.  It  had  cut  through  the  linen  beneath. 
Twice  again  it  swung,  and  a  sharp  sense  of  pain 
shot  through  every  nerve.  But  the  moment  of 
escape  had  arrived.  At  a  wave  of  my  hand  my 
deliverers  hurried  tumultuously  away.  With  a 
steady  movement — cautious,  sidelong,  shrinking 
and  slow — I  slid  from  the  embrace  of  the  bandage, 
and  beyond  the  reach  of  the  scimitar.  For  the 
moment,  at  least,  /  loas  free  ! 

Free !  and  in  the  grasp  of  the  Inquisition !  I 
had  scarcely  stepped  from  my  wooden  bed  of 
horror  upon  the  stone  floor  of  the  prison,  when 
the  motion  of  the  hellish  machine  ceased,  and  I 
beheld  it  drawn  up,  by  some  invisible  force,  through 
the  ceiling.  This  was  a  lesson  which  I  took  des- 
perately to  heart.  My  every  motion  was  un- 
doubtedly watched.  Free !  I  had  but  escaped 
death  in  one  form  of  agony  to  be  delivered  unto 
worse  than  death  in  some  other.  With  that  thought 
I  rolled  my  eyes  nervously  around  on  the  barriers 
of  iron  that  hemmed  me  in.  Something  unusual 
— some  change  which,  at  first,  I  could  not  appre- 
ciate distinctly — it  was  obvious  had  taken  place  in 
the  apartment.  For  many  minutes  of  a  dreamy 
and  trembling  abstraction  I  busied  myself  in  vain. 


THE   PIT   AND   THE   PENDULUM. 


283 


unconnected  conjecture.  During  this  period  I 
became  aware,  for  the  first  time,  of  the  origin  of 
the  sulphurous  light  which  illumined  the  cell.  It 
proceeded  from  a  fissure,  about  half  an  inch  in 
width,  extending  entirely  around  the  prison  at  the 
base  of  the  walls,  which  thus  appeared  and  were 
completely  separated  from  the  floor.  I  endea- 
voured, but  of  course  in  vain,  to  look  through  the 
aperture. 

As  I  rose  from  the  attempt,  the  mystery  of  the 
alteration  in  the  chamber  broke  at  once  upon  my 
understanding.  I  have  observed  that,  although 
the  outlines  of  the  figures  upon  the  walls  were 
sufficiently  distinct,  yet  the  colours  seemed  blurred 
and  indefinite.  These  colours  had  now  assumed, 
and  were  momentarily  assuming,  a  startling  and 
most  intense  brilliancy,  that  gave  to  the  spectral 
and  fiendish  portraitures  an  aspect  that  might 
have  thrilled  even  firmer  nerves  than  my  own. 
Demon  eyes,  of  a  wild  and  ghastly  vivacity,  glared 
upon  me  in  a  thousand  directions,  where  none  had 
been  visible  before,  and  gleamed  with  the  lurid 
lustre  of  a  fire  that  I  could  not  force  my  imagina- 
tion to  regard  as  unreal. 

Unreal !  Even  while  I  breathed  there  came  to 
my  nostrils  the  breath  of  the  vapour  of  heated 
iron  !  A  sufibcating  odour  pervaded  the  prison  !  a 
deeper  glow  settled  each  moment  in  the  eyes  that 
glared  at  my  agony  !  a  richer  tint  of  crimson  dif- 
fused itself  over  the  pictured  horrors  of  blood.  I 
panted,  I  gasped  for  breath  !  There  could  be  no 
doubt  of  the  design  of  my  tormentors ;  oh !  most 
unrelenting,  most  demoniac  of  men !  I  shrank 
from  the  glowing  metal  to  the  centre  of  the  cell. 
Amid  the  thought  of  the  fiery  destruction  that 
impended,  the  idea  of  the  coolness  of  the  well  came 
over  my  soul  like  balm.  I  rushed  to  its  deadly 
brink.  I  threw  my  straining  vision  below.  The 
glare  from  the  enkindled  roof  illumined  its  inmost 
recesses.  Yet,  for  a  wild  moment,  did  my  spirit 
refuse  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  what  I  saw. 
At  length  it  forced — it  wrestled  its  way  into  my 
soul — it  burned  itself  in  upon  my  shuddering 
reason.     Oh !  for  a  voice  to  speak  !— oh  !  horror ! 


oh !  any  horror  but  this  !  With  a  shriek,  I  rushed 
from  the  margin,  and  buried  my  face  in  my  hands, 
weeping  bitterly. 

The  heat  rapidly  increased,  and  once  again  I 
looked  up,  shuddering  as  with  a  fit  of  the  ague. 
There  had  been  a  second  change  in  the  cell,  and 
now  the  change  was  obviously  in  the  form.  As 
before,  it  was  in  vain  that  I  at  first  endeavoured  to 
appreciate  or  understand  what  was  taking  place. 
But  not  long  was  I  left  in  doubt.  The  inquisi- 
torial vengeance  had  been  hurried  by  my  twofold 
escape,  and  there  was  to  be  no  more  dallying  with 
the  King  of  Terrors.  The  room  had  been  square. 
I  saw  that  two  of  its  iron  angles  were  now  acute — 
two,  consequently,  obtuse.  The  fearful  difference 
quickly  increased  with  a  low  rumbling  or  moaning 
sound.  In  an  instant  the  apartment  had  shifted 
its  form  into  that  of  a  lozenge.  But  the  alteration 
stopped  not  here — I  neither  hoped  nor  desired  it 
to  stop.  I  could  have  clasped  the  red  walls  to  my 
bosom  as  a  garment  of  eternal  peace.  "  Death,"  I 
said,  "  any  death  but  that  of  the  pit ! "  Fool ! 
might  I  not  have  known  that  into  the  pit  it  was 
the  object  of  the  burning  iron  to  urge  me  %  Could 
I  resist  its  glow?  or  if  even  that,  could  I  with- 
stand its  pressure  1  And  now,  flatter  and  flatter 
grew  the  lozenge,  with  a  rapidity  that  left  me  no 
time  for  contemplation.  Its  centre,  and  of  course 
its  greatest  width,  came  just  over  the  yawning  gulf. 
I  shrank  back,  but  the  closing  walls  pressed  me 
resistlessly  onward.  At  length  for  my  seared  and 
writhing  body  there  was  no  longer  an  inch  of  foot- 
hold on  the  firm  floor  of  the  prison.  I  struggled  no 
more,  but  the  agony  of  my  soul  found  vent  in  one 
loud,  long,  and  final  scream  of  despair.  I  felt  that 
I  tottered  upon  the  brink — I  averted  my  eyes 

There  was  a  discordant  hum  of  human  voices  I 
There  was  a  loud  blast  as  of  many  trumpets  ! 
There  was  a  harsh  grating  as  of  thunders  !  The 
fiery  walls  rushed  back  !  An  outstretched  arm 
caught  my  own  as  I  fell,  fainting,  into  the  abyss. 
It  was  that  of  General  Lasalle.  The  French  army 
had  entered  Toledo.  The  Inquisition  was  in  the 
hands  of  its  enemies. 


284 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


HOME     TEOUBLES. 


jUTTIXG  up  a  stove  is  not  so  difficult 
in  itself.  It  is  the  pipe  that  raises 
four-fifths  of  the  mischief  and  all  the 
dust.  You  may  take  down  a  stove 
with  all  the  care  in  the  world,  and  yet 
that  pipe  won't  come  together  again  as  it 
was  before.  You  find  this  out  when  you  are 
standing  on  a  chair  with  your  arms  full  of 
pipe  and  your  mouth  full  of  soot.  Your  wife  is 
standing  on  the  floor  in  a  position  that  enables  her 
to  see  you,  the  pipe,  and  the  chair,  and  here  she 
gives  utterance  to  those  remarks  that  are  calculated 


inspired  with  life,  and  ache  to  kick  them  through 
the  window.  But  she  doesn't  lose  her  yjatience. 
She  goes  about  with  that  exasperating  rigging  on, 
with  a  length  of  pipe  under  each  arm  and  a  long- 
handled  broom  in  her  hand,  and  says  she  don't  see 
how  it  is  some  people  never  have  any  trouble  put- 
ting up  a  stove.  Then  you  miss  the  hammer.  You 
don't  see  it  anywhere.  You  stare  into  the  pipe, 
along  the  mantel,  and  down  the  stove,  and  off  to 
the  floor.  Your  wife  watches  you,  and  is  finally 
thoughtful  enough  to  inquire  what  you  are  looking 
after ;  and  on  learning,  pulls  the  article  from  her 


"  SdE  KEEPS  IT  UP  WITH  T-iE  BROOM."     (Di-aicn  !>y  M.  Stretch.) 


to  hasten  a  man  into  the  extremes  of  insanity. 
1  ler  dress  is  pinned  over  her  waist,  and  her  hands 
rest  on  her  hips.  She  has  got  one  of  your  hats  on 
lior  head,  and  your  top  coat  on  her  back,  and  a  pair 
of  goloshes  on  her  feet.  And  while  you  are  up 
there  trying  to  circumvent  the  awful  contrariness 
of  the  pipe,  and  saying  that  you  know  some  fool 
has  been  mixing  it,  she  stands  safely  on  the  floor 
and  bombards  you  with  such  domestic  mottoes  as 
— "  What's  the  use  of  swearing  .so  ] "  "  You  know 
no  one  has  touched  that  pipe."  "You  ain't  got 
any  more  patience  than  a  child."  "  Do  be  careful 
of  that  chair."  And  then  she  goes  off  and  re- 
appears with  an  armful  more  of  pipe,  and  before 
you  are  aware  of  it  she  has  got  that  pipe  so 
horribly  mixed  up  that  it  does  seem  that  two 
pieces  are  alike. 

You  join  the  ends  and  work  them  to  and  fro,  and 
to  and  fro  again,  and  then  you  take  them  apart  and 
look  at  them.  Then  you  spread  one  out  and  jam 
the  other  together,  and  mount  them  once  more. 
But  it  is  no  go.    You  begin  to  think  the  pieces  are 


pocket.  Then  you  feel  as  if  you  could  go  out  of 
doors  and  swear  a  hole  twelve  feet  square  through  a 
block  of  brick  buildings,  but  she  merely  observes, 
''  Why  don't  you  speak  when  you  want  anything, 
and  not  stare  like  a  dummy  1 " 

When  that  part  of  the  pipe  which  goes  through 
the  wall  is  up,  she  keeps  it  up  with  the  broom 
while  you  are  making  the  connection,  and  stares  at 
it  with  an  intensity  that  is  entirely  uncalled  for. 
All  the  while  your  position  is  becoming  more  and 
more  interesting.  The  pipe  won't  go  together  of 
course.  The  soot  shakes  down  into  your  eyes  and 
mouth,  the  perspiration  rolls  down  your  face  and 
tickles  your  chin  as  it  drops  off,  and  it  seems  as  if 
your  arms  were  slowly  but  surely  coming  out  of 
their  sockets. 

Here  your  wife  comes  to  the  rescue  by  inquiring 
if  you  are  going  to  be  all  day  doing  nothing,  and  if 
you  think  her  arms  are  made  of  cast  iron  ;  and  then 
the  broom  slips  off  the  pipe,  and  in  her  endeavour  to 
recover  her  hold  she  jabs  you  ixnder  the  chin  with 
the  handle,  and  the  pipe  comes  down  on  your  head 


HOME   TROUBLES. 


285 


with  its  load  of  iried  soot,  and  then  the  chair  tilts 
forward  enough  to  discharge  your  feet,  and  you  come 
down  on  the  wrong  end  of  that  chair  with  a  force 
that  would  bankrupt  a  pile  driver.  You  don't  touch 
that  stove  again.  You  leave  your  wife  examining 
the  chair  and  bemoaning  its  injuries,  and  go  into 
the  kitchen  and  wash  your  skinned  and  bleeding 
hands  with  yellow  soap.  Then  you  go  down  street 
after  a  man  to  do  the  business,  and  your  wife  goes 
over  to  the  neighbours  with  her  chair,  and  tells 
them  about  its  injuries,  and  drains  the  neighbour- 
hood dry  with  its  sympathy  long  before  you  get 
home. 

I  think  I  must  have  caught  cold  over  that  job. 
Through  the  day  I  felt  a  little   stiff  about   the 


wake  up,  and  I  did  so.  It  immediately  transpired 
that  I  might  better  have  stayed  where  I  was,  and 
taken  my  chances  with  the  saw. 

I  found  myself  sitting  straight  up  in  bed  with 
one  hand  spasmodically  grasping  my  jaw,  and  the 
other  swaying  to  and  fro  without  any  apparently 
definite  purpose. 

It  was  an  awful  pain.  It  bored  like  lightning 
through  the  basement  of  my  jaw,  darted  across  the 
roof  of  my  mouth,  and  then  ran  lengthwise  of  the 
teeth.  If  every  flying  pang  had  been  a  drunken 
plough  chased  by  a  demon  across  a  stump  lot,  1 
think  the  observer  would  understand  my  condition. 
I  could  no  more  get  rid  of  the  fearful  agony  than 
I  could  pick  up  a  bit  of  wet  soap  when  in  a  hurry. 


What  was  the  matter— did  you  slip?"     (Drawn  by  M.  Strttch. 


shoulders,  with  a  sensation  between  the  eyes  as  if  I 
had  been  trying  to  inhale  some  putty. 

I  observed  to  Maria  (Mrs.  Perkins'  name  is  Maria), 
that  I  had  caught  a  bad  cold,  and  would  probably 
regret  it  in  time.  But  she  treated  the  matter  lightly 
by  remarking  that  I  had  "  caught  my  granny."  As 
that  estimable  lady  has  been  dead  thirteen  years, 
the  reference  to  my  catching  her,  with  such  a  start 
in  her  favour,  was  of  course  a  joke. 

When  I  went  to  bed  that  night,  I  apprehended 
trouble.  Along  one  jaw,  the  left  one,  occasionally 
capered  a  grumbling  sensation.  It  kept  me  awake 
an  hour  or  so  trying  to  determine  whether  that 
was  all  there  was  of  it,  or  whether  there  was  some- 
thing to  come  after  which  would  need  my  wakeful 
presence  to  contend  against.  Thus  pondering  I  fell 
asleep,  and  forgot  all  about  the  trouble.  I  don't 
know  how  long  I  slept,  but  I  fell  to  dreaming  that 
I  had  made  a  match  of  fifty  dollars  a  side  to  fight  a 
cross-cut  saw  in  a  steam  mill,  and  was  well  to  work 
on  the  job,  when  the  saw  got  my  head  between  its 
teeth.    I  thought  this  was  t*  favourable  time  to 


Suddenly  it  stopped.  It  went  off  all  at  once, 
giving  me  a  parting  kick  that  fairly  made  me 
howl. 

"  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you  1"  said  a 
voice  from  one  corner  of  the  room. 

I  looked  out  into  the  dark,  astonished. 

"  Maria,  is  that  you  1 "  said  I. 

"  What  there  is  left  of  me  ;  "  was  the  curt  reply, 
followed  by  a  fumbling  about  the  mantelpiece. 

Presently  a  light  was  struck,  and  Mrs.  Perkins 
appeared  before  me.  Her  hair  stuck  up  in  all  direc- 
tions. Her  nose  was  very  red,  and  her  eyes  were 
expanded  to  their  fullest  capacity. 

"  Well  I  declare,  Cyrus  Davidson,  if  this  hasn't 
been  a  night  of  it !  What  in  the  name  of  mercy  is 
the  matter  with  you  1  Are  you  gone  clean  crazy,  or 
have  you  sat  on  a  pin  1  For  one  whole  hour  you 
have  been  flopping  your  bony  arms  in  all  directions. 
If  you  have  got  through  with  your  contortions  I'll 
come  to  bed,  and  try  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep.  " 

I  thought  I  was  rid  of  the  tooth-ache,  but  a 
grumbling  set  in  again  next  morning.     It  was  just 


286 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


like  the  feeling  of  the  night  before,  and  a  still  voice 
said  to  me,  "  Look  out,  Perkins.'" 

I  did.  I  went  right  away  to  the  dentist  who 
has  puUed  the  teeth  of  our  family  and  knew  our 
peculiarities.  There  was  an  imeasy  smell  about 
his  office.  It  was  very  suggestive  of  trouble, 
and  as  I  sniffed  it  in  I  experienced  a  sinking 
feeling.  I  looked  at  him  and  smiled  sickly.  He 
was  never,  even  on  a  holiday,  the  handsomest  of 
nun,  but  now  his  appearance  was  very,  very 
depressing. 

I  told  him  what  was  the  matter  with  me,  how 
I  had  been  up  all  night,  how  my  wife  had  been 
tlirown  out  of  bed  by  the  violence  of  my  suffering, 
how — 

He  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  sit  down.  I  sat  down, 
and  then  he  held  back  my  head,  opened  my  mouth, 
and  went  to  fishing  around  inside  with  a  piece  of 
watch  spring. 

And  while  he  angled  he  conversed.    Said  he — 

"  You  have  caught  a  cold. " 

"I  have." 

"  It  seems  the  trouble  is  with  one  of  the  bicus- 
pids, "  he  remarked. 

Of  coiirse  I  didn't  know  what  a  bicuspid  was,  but 
thought  it  wouldn't  look  well  in  the  head  of  a 
family  being  floored  with  so  short  a  word  as  that,  so 
I  asked,  with  some  vigour — 

"Which  one?" 

"  The  tumorous, "  he  said. 

"  I  am  glad  it  ain't  any  worse,"  I  repUed,  throw- 
ing a  sigh  of  relief. 


"  The  frontal  bone,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "  is  not 
seriously  affected.  The  submaxillary  gland  is  some- 
what enlarged,  but  it  does  not  necessarily  follow 
that  parotitis  will  ensue.  " 

"  I  am  proud  to  hear  that, "  said  I,  which  I  cer- 
tainly was,  although  if  the  parotitis  had  ensued  it 
isn't  at  all  likely  I  should  have  minded  it  much, 
unless  it  was  something  that  would  spill,  and  I 
was  dressed  up. 

He  kept  on  talking  and  angling. 

"  The  oesophagus  isn't  loose,  "  he  next  remarked, 

"  Ah,"  said  I,  winking  at  him. 

"  Oh  no  ;  the  ligaments  are  quite  firm.  I  might 
say " 

"  Murder  !  Fire  ! "  I  shouted  in  bewilderment. 

"  Did  it  hurt  you  1 "  he  asked,  looking  as  calm 
and  cool  as  the  lid  of  an  ice-cream  freezer. 

"  Hurt  me  ?  Did  you  expect  to  split  me  open 
with  a  watch  spring,  and  not  have  it  hurt  me  1 
What  was  the  matter — did  you  slip  ]  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  said,  "  I  was  simply  getting 
hold  of  the  tooth.  Just  hold  your  head  back  an 
instant,  and  I  will  have  it  out  at  once." 

"  I  guess  I  won't  try  it  again,"  said  I  with  a 
shiver.  "  The  toothache  is  bad  enough,  but  it  is 
heaven  alongside  of  that  watch  spring.  You  may 
come  up  some  time  and  pull  it  out  when  I  ain't  at 
home.  I  think  I  could  endure  the  operation  with 
necessary  calmness  if  I  was  off  about  eight  miles. 
Come  up  when  you  can." 

And  I  left.  I  hope  he  will  come.  I  am  boiling 
some  pure  spring  water  for  him. 


THE  BUCCANEEE'S  TEEASUEE. 

[From  "Wolfert  Webber;    or,  Golden  Dreams."     By  Washington  Irvisg.] 


^OLFERT  WEBBER  had  carried 
home  a  fresh  stock  of  stores  and 
notions  to  ruminate  upon.  These 
accounts  of  pots  of  money  and 
Spanish  treasures,  buried  here  and 
there  and  everywhere  about  the  rocks  and  bays 
of  these  wild  shores,  made  him  almost  dizzy, 
"  Blessed  St.  Nicholas  ! "  ejaculated  he,  half  aloud, 
'  is  it  not  possible  to  come  upon  one  of  these 
golden  hoards,  and  to  make  oneself  rich  in  a 
twinlding  ?  How  hard  that  I  must  go  on,  delving 
and  delving,  day  in  and  day  out,  merely  to  make 
a  morsel  of  bread,  when  one  lucky  stroke  of  a 
spade  might  enable  me  to  ride  in  my  carriage  for 
the  rest  of  my  life  ! " 

The  doctor  had  often  heard  the  rumours  of 
treasure  being  buried  in  various  parts  of  the  island, 
and  had  long  been  anxious  to  get  in  the  traces  of  it. 
No  sooner  were  WoKert's  waking  and  sleeping 
vagaries  confided  to  him,  than  he  beheld  in  them 


the  confirmed  symptoms  of  a  case  of  money-dig- 
ging, and  lost  no  time  in  probing  it  to  the  bottom. 
Wolfert  had  long  been  sorely  oppressed  in  mind  by 
the  golden  secret,  and  as  a  family  physician  is  a 
kind  of  father  confessor,  he  was  glad  of  an  oppor- 
tunity of  unburdening  himself.  So  far  from 
curing,  the  doctor  caught  the  malady  from  his 
patient.  The  circumstances  unfolded  to  him 
awakened  all  his  cupidity ;  he  had  not  a  doubt 
of  money  being  buried  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  mysterious  crosses,  and  offered  to 
join  Wolfert  in  the  search. 

The  great  church  clock  struck  ten  as  Wolfert  and 
the  doctor  passed  by  the  churchyard,  and  the 
watchmen  bawled,  in  hoarse  voice,  a  long  and 
doleful  "  All's  well ! "  A  deep  sleep  had  already 
fallen  upon  this  primitive  little  burgh.  Nothing 
disturbed  this  awful  silence,  excepting  now  and 
then  the  bark  of  some  profligate,  night-walking 
do^c,  or  the  serenade  of  some  romantic  cat.    • 


THE  BUCCANEER'S  TREASURE. 


287 


Tliey  found  the  old  fisherman  waiting  for  them, 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  stern  of  his  skiff,  which 
was  moored  just  in  front  of  his  little  cabin.  A 
pickaxe  and  spade  were  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  with  a  dark  lantern,  and  a  stone  bottle  of 
good  Dutch  courage,  in  which  honest  Sam,  no 
doubt,  put  even  more  faith  than  Dr.  Knipperhausen 
in  his  drugs. 

Thus,  then,  did  these  three  worthies  embark  in 
their  cockleshell  of  a  skiff  upon  this  nocturnal  ex- 
pedition, with  a  wisdom  and  valour  equalled  only 
by  the  three  wise  men  of  Gotham,  who  adventured 
to  sea  in  a  bowl.  The  tide  was  rising  and  running 
rapidly  up  the  Sound.  The  current  bore  them 
along  almost  without  the  aid  of  an  oar. 

They  now  landed,  and  lighting  the  lantern, 
gathered  their  various  implements  and  proceeded 
slowly  through  the  bushes.  Every  sound  startled 
them,  even  that  of  their  own  footsteps  among  the 
dried  leaves ;  and  the  hooting  of  a  screech-owl 
from  the  shattered  chimney  of  the  neighbouring 
ruin  made  their  blood  run  cold. 

In  spite  of  all  Wolfert's  caution  in  taking  note 
of  the  landmarks,  it  was  some  time  before  they 
could  find  the  open  place  among  the  trees,  where 
the  treasure  was  supposed  to  be  buried.  At  length 
they  came  to  the  ledge  of  rock,  and  on  examining 
its  surface  by  the  aid  of  a  lantern,  Wolfert  recog- 
nised the  three  mystic  crosses.  Their  hearts  beat 
quick,  for  the  momentous  trial  was  at  hand  that 
was  to  determine  their  hopes. 

The  lantern  was  now  held  by  Wolfert  Webber, 
while  the  doctor  produced  the  divining  rod.  It 
was  a  forked  twig,  one  end  of  which  was  grasped 
firmly  in  each  hand  ;  while  the  centre  forming  the 
stem,  pointed  perpendicularly  upwards.  The 
doctor  moved  this  wand  about,  within  a  certain 
distance  of  the  earth,  from  place  to  place,  but  for 
some  time  without  any  effect :  while  Wolfert  kept 
the  light  of  the  lantern  turned  full  upon  it,  and 
watched  it  with  the  most  breathless  interest.  At 
length  the  rod  began  slowly  to  turn.  The  doctor 
grasped  it  with  great  earnestness,  his  hands  trem- 
bling with  the  agitation  of  his  mind.  The  wand 
continued  to  turn  gradually,  until  at  length  the 
stem  had  reversed  its  position,  and  pointed  per- 
pendicularly downward,  and  remained  pointing  to 
one  spot  as  fixedly  as  the  needle  to  the  pole. 

"  This  is  the  spot  ! "  said  the  doctor,  in  an 
almost  inaudible  tone. 

Wolfert's  heart  was  in  his  throat. 

"  Shall  I  dig?"  said  the  negro,  grasping  the  spade. 

"  PotztaiLsend,  no  !  "  replied  the  little  doctor 
hastily.  He  now  ordered  his  companions  to  keep 
close  by  him,  and  to  maintain  the  most  inflexible 
silence  ;  that  certain  precautions  must  be  taken, 
and  ceremonies  used,  to  prevent  the  evil  spirits, 
which  kept  about  buried  treasure,  from  doing  them 
any  harm. 


He  then  drew  a  circle  round  the  place,  enough 
to  include  the  whole  party.  He  next  gathered  dry 
twigs  and  leaves,  and  made  a  fire,  upon  which  hv. 
threw  certain  drugs  and  dried  herbs,  which  he  had 
brought  in  his  basket.  A  thick  smoke  rose,  diti'u- 
sing  a  potent  odour,  savouring  marvellously  of 
brimstone  and  assafoetida,  which  however  grateful 
it  might  be  to  the  olfactory  nerves  of  spirits,  nearly 
strangled  poor  Wolfert,  and  produced  a  fit  of 
coughing  and  wheezing  that  made  the  whole  grove 
resound.  Dr.  Knipperhausen  then  unclasped  the 
volume  which  he  had  brought  under  his  arm, 
which  was  printed  in  red  and  black  characters  in 
German  text.  While  Wolfert  held  the  lantern, 
the  doctor,  by  the  aid  of  his  spectacles,  read  oft" 
several  forms  of  conjuration  in  Latin  and  German. 
He  then  ordered  Sam  to  seize  the  pick-axe  and 
proceed  to  woi'k.  The  close-bound  soil  gave 
obstinate  signs  of  not  having  been  disturbed  for 
many  a  year.  After  having  picked  his  way  through 
the  surface,  Sam  came  to  abed  of  sand  and  gravel, 
which  he  threw  briskly  to  right  and  left  with  the 
spade. 

The  negro  continued  his  labours  and  had  already 
digged  a  considerable  hole.  The  doctor  stood  on 
the  edge,  reading  formulae,  every  now  and  then 
from  his  black  volume,  or  throwing  more  drugs  and 
herbs  upon  the  fire ;  while  Wolfert  bent  anxiously 
over  the  pit,  watching  every  stroke  of  the  spade. 
Any  one  witnessing  the  scene,  thus  lighted  up  by 
fire,  lantern,  and  the  reflection  of  Wolfei-t's  red 
mantle,  might  have  mistaken  the  little  doctor  for 
some  foul  magician  busied  in  his  incantations, 
and  the  grizzly-headed  negro  for  some  swart  gob- 
lin, obedient  to  his  commands. 

At  length  the  spade  of  the  old  fisherman  struck 
upon  something  that  sounded  hollow  ;  the  sound 
vibrated  to  Wolfert's  heart.  He  struck  his  spade 
again — 

"  'Tis  a  chest,"  said  Sam. 

"Full  of  gold,  I'll  warrant  it !"  cried  Wolfert, 
clasping  his  hands  with  rapture. 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words,  when  a 
sound  from  above  caught  his  ear.  He  cast  up  his 
eyes,  and  lo !  by  the  expiring  light  of  the  fire,  he 
beheld,  just  over  the  disk  of  the  rock,  what 
appeared  to  be  the  grim  visage  of  the  drowned 
buccaneer,  grinning  hideously  down  upon  him. 

Wolfert  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  let  fall  the  lantern. 
His  panic  communicated  itself  to  his  companions. 
The  negro  leaped  out  of  the  hole ;  the  doctor 
dropped  his  book  and  basket,  and  began  to  pray 
in  German.  All  was  horror  and  confusion.  The 
fire  was  scattered  about,  the  lantern  extinguished. 
In  their  hurry  they  ran  against  and  confounded 
one  another.  They  fancied  a  legion  of  hobgoblins 
let  loose  upon  them,  and  that  they  saw  by  the 
fitful  gleams  of  the  scattered  embers,  strange 
figures  in  red  caps  gibbering  and  ramping  around 


288 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


them.  The  doctor  ran  one  way,  the  negro  another, 
and  Wolfert  made  for  the  waterside.  As  he 
plunged,  struggling  onwards  through  bush  and 
brake,  he  heard  the  tread  of  some  one  in  pursuit. 
He  scrambled  frantically  forward.  The  footsteps 
gained  upon  him.  He  felt  himself  grasped  by 
his  cloak,  when  suddenly  his  pursuer  was  attacked 
in  turn. 

One  of  the  combatants  was  disposed  of,   but 
whether  friend  or  foe,  Wolftrt  could  not  tell,  or 


bank,  bumping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  bush  to 
bush,  and  leaving  the  red  cloak  fluttering,  like  a 
bloody  banner,  in  the  air. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Wolfert  came  to  him- 
self. When  he  opened  his  eyes,  the  ruddy  streaks 
of  morning  were  already  shooting  up  the  sky.  He 
found  himself  lying  in  the  bottom  of  a  boat, 
grievously  battered.  He  attempted  to  sit  up,  but 
he  was  too  sore  and  stiff  to  move.  A  voice  re- 
quested him,  in  friendly  accents,  to  lie  still.     He- 


"  The  doctor  stood  on  the  edge,  beading  fobmulie." 


whether  they  might  or  not  both  be  foes.  He 
heard  the  survivor  approach,  and  his  terror  re- 
vived. He  saw,  where  the  profile  of  the  rocks  rose 
against  the  horizon,  a  human  form  advancing.  He 
could  not  be  mistaken — it  must  be  the  buccaneer. 
Whither  should  he  flj-  ?  a  precipice  was  on  one  side, 
a  murderer  on  the  other.  The  enemy  approached 
— he  was  close  at  hand.  Wolfert  attempted  to 
let  himself  down  the  face  of  the  cliff  His  cloak 
caught  in  a  thorn  that  grew  on  the  edge.  He  was 
jerked  from  off  his  feet,  and  held  dangling  in  the 
air,  half  choked  by  the  string  with  which  his  care- 
ful wife  had  fastened  the  garment  round  his  neck. 
Wolfert  thought  his  last  moment  was  arrived  ; 
already  had  he  committed  his  soul  to  St.  Nicholas, 
when  the  string  broke,  and  he  tumbled  down  the 


turned  his  eyes  towards  the  speaker — it  was  Dirk 
Waldron.  He  had  dogged  the  party  at  the  earnest 
request  of  Dame  Webber  and  her  daughter,  who 
with  the  laudable  curiosity  of  their  sex  had  pried 
into  the  secret  consultations  of  Wolfert  and  the 
doctor.  Dirk  had  been  completely  distanced  in 
following  the  light  skiff  of  the  fisherman,  and  had 
just  come  in  time  to  rescue  the  poor  money-digger 
from  his  pursuer. 

Thus  ended  this  perilous  enterprise.  The  doctor 
and  black  Sam  severally  found  their  way  back  to 
the  Manhattoes,  each  having  some  tale  of  peril  to 
relate.  As  to  poor  Wolfert,  instead  of  returning 
in  triumph,  laden  with  bags  of  gold,  he  was  borne 
home  on  a  shutter,  followed  by  a  rabble  rou' 
of  curious  urchins. 


GOING   HOME. 


289 


THE     COURTIN'. 

[By  James  Russell  Lowell.] 


EKLE  crep'  up 
quite  unbe- 
known, 

An'  peeked  in 
thru  the  win- 
der, 
An'  there  sot 
Huldy  all 
alone, 

'ith  no  one  nigh 
to  hinder. 

Agin'  the  chimbly 
crooknecks 
hung, 
An'  in  among'  em  rusted 
The  ole  queen's  arm  thet  gran'ther  Young 
Fetched  back  from  Concord  busted. 


The  wannut  logs  shot  sparkles  out 
Toward  the  pootiest,  bless  her  ! 

An'  leetle  fires  danced  all  about 
The  cliiny  on  the  dresser. 

The  very  room,  coz  she  wuz  in, 
Looked  warm  frum  floor  to  ceilin^' 

An'  she  looked  full  ez  rosy  agin 
Ez  th'  apple  she  wuz  peelin'. 

She  heerd  a  foot  an'  knowd  it,  tu^ 
A-raspin'  on  the  scraper — 

All  ways  to  once  her  feelins  flew 
Like  sparks  in  burnt-up  paper 

He  kin'  o'  I'itered  on  the  mat, 
Some  doubtfle  of  the  seekle  : 

His  heart  kep'  goin'  pitypat, 
But  hern  went  pity  Zekle. 


GOmG  HOME. 

[From  "  Broken  to  Harness."    By  Edmund  Yates.] 


[HE  room  lay  in  deep  shadow,  the  lamp 
having  been  moved  behind  the  screen. 
On  its  handsome  bracket  the  Louis- 
Quatorze  ormolu  clock  ticked  solemnly 
away,  registering  the  death  of  each 
minute  audibly,  and  indefinably  forcing  itself  upon 
the  attention  of  those  sitting  by,  in  connection  with 
the  rapidly-closing  earthly  career  of  the  sufferer  on 
the  bed.  She  lay  there,  having  again  fallen  into 
deep  heavy  slumber,  broken  occasionally  by  a  fitful 
cry,  a  moan  of  anguish,  then  relapsing  once  more  into 
stertorous  breathing  and  seemingly  placid  rest.  In 
a  large  arm-chair  close  by  the  head  of  the  bed  sat 
Robert  Simnel,  his  eyes  tear-blurred,  his  cheeks 
swollen  and  flushed,  his  lips  compressed,  his  hands 
stretched  straight  out  before  him  and  rigidly  knit 
together  over  his  knee.  This  was  the  end  of  it, 
then  ;  the  result  of  all  his  hopes  and  fears,  his  toil- 
ing and  his  scheming.  Just  as  the  prize  was  in  his 
grasp,  it  melted  into  thin  air.  Bitter,  frightfully 
bitter,  as  were  his  reflections  at  that  moment,  they 
were  tinged  with  very  little  thought  of  self.  Grief, 
unspeakable  grief,  plucked  at  his  heartstrings  as 
he  looked  upon  the  mangled  wreck  of  the  only  one 
he  had  ever  really  cherished  in  the  course  of  his 
busy  life.  There  lay  the  beautiful  form  which  he 
had  seen,  so  round  and  plump,  swaying  from  side 
in  graceful  inflections,  with  every  movement  of  her 
2k 


horse,  now  crushed  out  of  shape  and  swathed  with 
bandages  and  splints.  The  fair  hair,  which  he  re- 
collected tightly  knotted  under  the  pretty  hat,  lay 
floating  over  the  pillow,  dank  with  death-dew  ;  the 
strong  white  hands,  against  the  retaining  grasp  of 
which  the  fieriest  horses  had  pulled  and  plunged  in 
vain,  lay  helpless  on  the  coverlet,  cut  and  scored  by 
the  gravel,  and  without  an  infant's  power  in  them. 
A  fresh  burst  of  tears  clouded  Robert  Simnel's  eyes 
as  he  looked  on  this  sad  sight ;  and  his  heart  sunk 
within  him  as  he  felt  that  his  one  chance  in  life, 
his  one  chance  of  love  and  peace  and  happiness, 
was  rapidly  vanishing  before  him.  Then  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  changed,  his  eyes  flashed,  he  set 
his  teeth,  and  drove  his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his 
hands  ;  for  in  listening  to  poor  Kate's  incoherent 
exclamations  and  broken  phrases,  Simnel  had  gath- 
ered sufficient  to  give  him  reason  to  suspect  that 
she  had  met  Beresford,  and  that  he  had  somehow 
or  other — whether  intentionally  or  not,  Simnel 
could  not  make  out — been  connected  with,  if  not 
the  primary  cause  of,  the  accident.  And  then 
Simnel's  chest  heaved,  and  his  breath  came  thick, 
and  he  inwardly  swore  that  he  would  be  revenged 
on  this  man,  who,  to  the  last,  had  proved  himself 
the  evil  genius  of  her  who  once  so  fondly  loved 
him. 
When    Barbara  and   Frank  entered  the  room 


290 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


together,  Simnel  looked  up,  and  the  bad  expression  ! 
faded  out  of  his  face.  He  in  common  with  the  rest 
of  the  world,  had  heard  some  garbled  story  of  the 
separation,  and  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  poor  Kitty's 
accident  had  been  the  means  of  throwing  them 
together  again,  and  of  effecting  a  reconciliation. 
What  he  had  just  heard  from  the  girl's  mouth  of 
Churchill  had  inspired  in  him  a  sense  of  gratitude 
and  regard ;  and  as  he  noticed  Barbara  clinging 
closely  to  her  hiisband's  arm,  as  she  threw  a  half- 
frightened  glance  towards  the  bed,  he  felt  himself, 
dimly  acknowledging  the  mysterious  workings  of 
that  Providence,  which  in  its  own  good  time,  brings 
all  things  to  their  apix)inted  end. 

Frank  and  Barbara,  after  casting  a  hurried  look 
at  the  bed,  had  seated  themselves  on  the  other  side  ; 
the  nurse,  tired  out  with  watching,  had  drawn  her 
large  chair  close  to  the  fire  and  fallen  into  that  state 
of  nodding  and  catching  herself  up  agaiii,  of  strug- 
gling with  sleep,  then  succumbing,  then  diving  for- 
ward with  a  nod  and  pulling  herself  rigid  in  an 
instant, — a  state  so  common  in  extra-fatigueP^  and 
Simnel  had  dropped  into  his  old  desolate  attitude. 
So  they  sat,  no  one  speaking.  Ah,  the  misery  of 
that  j^'atching  in  a  sick-room  !  the  solemn  silence 
scarcely  broken  by  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  the 
crackling  of  the  fire,  the  occasional  dropping  of  the 
coals,  the  smothered  hum  of  wheels  outside  ;  the 
horrible  thoughts  that  at  such  times  get  the  mastery 
of  the  mind  and  riot  in  full  sway, — thoughts  of  the 
sick  person  there  being  watched,  doubts  as  to  the 
chances  of  their  recovery,  wonderings  as  to  whether 
they  themselves  are  conscious  of  their  danger,  as  to 
whether  they  are  what  is  commonly  called  "  pre- 
pared "  to  die.  Then  a  dreamy  state,  in  which  we 
begin  to  wonder  when  we  shall  be  in  similar  plight ; 
and  where  ]  Shall  we  have  had  time  for  the  reali- 
sation of  those  schemes  which  now  so  much  occupy 
us,  or  shall  we  be  cut  oflf  suddenly  1  Shall  we  be 
able  to  bear  it  calmly  and  bravely  when  the  doctor 
makes  that  dread  announcement,  and  telLs  us  that 
if  we  have  any  earthly  affairs  to  settle,  it  were  best 
to  do  it  at  once  ;  for  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
there  is  a  certain  amount  of  danger,  etc.,  etc.  And 
the  boys,  with  life  before  them,  and  no  helping, 
guiding  hand  to  point  out  the  proper  path  ?  And 
the  vnfe,  dearest  helpmate,  true  in  all  her  wifely 
duties,  but  ah  !  how  unfitted  to  combat  with  the 
world,  to  have  the  rasponsibilities  of  the  household 
to  bear  alone  1  And  then  the  end  itself ! — the  Shadow 
cloaked  from  head  to  foot !  the  great  hereafter  ! 
''  Behold,  we  know  not  anything  ! "  Happy  are  we 
to  arouse  from  that  dismal  reverie  at  the  sound  of 
the  wheels  of  the  doctor's  carriage,  and  gaze  into 
his  eyes,  trusting  there  to  read  a  growing  hope. 

The  reflections  of  the  four  persons  assembled 
round  poor  Kate  Mellon's  sick-bed  were  not  entire- 
ly of  this  kind.  The  minds  of  Frank  and  Barbara 
were  naturally  full  of  all  that  had  just  occurred,  in 


which  they  were  most  interested  ;  full  of  thoughts 
of  past  storms  and  future  happiness, — full  of  such 
pleasurable  emotions,  that  the  actual  scene  before 
them  had  but  a  minor  influence.  Simnel  was  pon- 
dering over  his  shattered  idol  and  his  dreams  of 
vengeance.  And  then  came  the  sound  of  the  wheels 
and  the  smothered  knock,  and  then  the  gentle 
opening  of  the  door,  and  Mr.  Slade's  pleasant  pre- 
sence in  the  room. 

He  approached  the  bed,  and  surveyed  Ihe  sleeper ; 
crossed  the  room  with  the  softest  footsteps,  and 
asked  a  few  whispered  questions  of  the  nurse  ;  then 
turned  quietly  back,  and  seated  himself  by  Frank 
and  Barbara. 

"  How  do  you  find  her  1 "  asked  the  latter. 

Mr.  Slade  simply  shook  his  head,  without  making 
any  verbal  reply. 

"  The  nurse  summoned  us  hurriedly  about  half- 
an-hour  ago,"  whispered  Churchill ;  "  but  when  we 
came  in,  we  found  her  in  the  state  in  which  you 
now  see  her ;  she  has  not  moved  since,  scarcely." 

"  Poor  child  !  poor  child  ! "  said  Mr.  Slade,  plying 
his  pocket-handkerchief  very  vigorously  ;  she'll  not 
move  much  more." 

"  Is  she, — is  she  very  bad  to-night  1 "  asked 
Barbara, 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  taking  a 
large  pinch  of  snuff  to  correct  his  emotion  ;  "  yes, 
my  dear,  she  is  very  bad,  as  you  would  say.  There 
is  a  i)inched,  worn  look  in  her  face  which  is  unmis- 
takable.    She  is  going  home  rapidly,  poor  girl !  " 

The  sense  of  the  last  observation,  though  he  had 
heard  the  words,  seemed  to  have  i-eached  Mr. 
Simnel's  ears,  for  he  rose  hurriedly,  and  crossing  to 
Mr.  Slade,  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  liim  on 
one  side. 

"Did  you  say  she  was  dying]"  he  asked  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  when  they  had  moved  some  distance 
from  the  rest. 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  though  I  implied  it,"  said  the 
old  man  ;  then,  peering  at  him  from  under  his  spec- 
tacles, "  May  I  ask,  are  you  any  relation  of  the 
lady's?" 

"  No,  no  relation ;  only  I — I  was  going  to  be 
married  to  her,  that  was  all."  He  said  these  words 
in  a  strange,  hard,  dry  voice ;  and  Mr.  Slade  felt  him 
clutch  his  wrist  tight  as  he  went  on  to  say,  "  Is 
there  no  hope  1  You  won't  take  amiss  what  I  say ; 
I  know  your  talent  and  your  position  ;  but  still,  in 
some  cases,  a  second  opinion, — if  there  is  anytliing 
that  money  can  do — " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Slade,  "  I  understand 
perfectly  what  you  mean  ;  and  God  knows  if  there 
were  anything  to  be  done  I  wouldn't  stand  in  the 
way ;  but  in  this  case,  if  you  had  the  whole  College 
of  Surgeons  before  you,  and  the  gold-fields  of 
Australia  at  your  back,  there  could  be  but  one 
result." 

Mr.  Simnel  bowed  his  head,  while  one  great 


10 


GOING     HOME.     (7>rau'ri  by  Gordon  Browne.) 


•GOING  HOME"  (p.  290). 


GOING   HOME. 


291 


shiver  ran  through  his  frame.  Then  he  looked  up 
and  said,  "  And  when  1 " 

"  Immediately, — to-night ;  in  two  or  three  hours 
at  most.  She  will  probably  rise  from  this  lethargy, 
have  some  moments  of  consciousness,  and  then — ' 

"And  then  1" 

Mr.  Slade  made  no  direct  answer,  but  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  turned  on  his  heel.  Silently  he 
shook  hands  with  Barbara  and  Churchill,  then  with 
Simnel,  placing  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and 
gripping  him  tightly  with  the  other ;  then  he  walked 
to  the  bed,  and  bent  over  it,  peering  into  poor 
Kitty's  tortured  face,  Avhile  two  large  tears  fell  on 
the  coverlet.  Then  he  stooped  and  lightly  kissed 
the  hand  which  lay  outstretched,  and  then  hurried 
noiselessly  from  the  room.  Mr,  Slade  saw  several 
patients  that  night  before  going  to  a  scientific  con- 
versazione  at  the  Hanover  Square  Rooms, — a  noble 
lord,  who  had  softening  of  the  brain,  and  who  pas- 
sed his  days  in  a  big  arm-chair,  and  made  a  moan- 
ing noise,  and  wept  when  turned  away  from  the 
fire  ;  a  distinguished  commoner,  who  had  given  way 
to  brandy,  and  was  raving  in  delirium ;  and  a  young 
gentleman,  who,  in  attempting  to  jump  the  mess- 
room  table  after  dinner,  had  slipped,  and  sustained 
a  compound  fracture  of  his  leg.  But  at  each  of  these 
visits  he  was  haunted  by  the  pallid,  tortured  face  of 
the  dying  girl.  At  the  conversazione  it  got  between 
the  microscope  and  a  most  delicious  preparation  ; 
and  was  by  his  side  as  he  drew  on  his  nightcap,  and 
prepared  for  his  hard-earned  slumbers. 

Slowly,  slowly  wore  away  the  night :  Simnel  still 
sat  rigid  and  erect :  but  the  nurse  was  sound  asleep, 
and  Barbara's  head  had  drooped  upon  Frank's 
shoulder,  when  suddenly  the  room  rang  with  a 
shrill  startling  cry,  In  an  instant  all  rushed  to  the 
bedside.  There  lay  Kate  awake,  but  still  under  the 
influence  of  some  dreadful  dream. 

"  Keep  him  off ;  keep  him  off ! "  she  cried.  "  It's 
unfair,  it's  cowardly,  Charley  !  I'm  a  woman,  and 
you  hit  so  hard  !  Oh,  Robert,"  she  exclaimed, 
vainly  endeavouring  to  drag  herself  towards  Simnel, 
"you'll  keep  him  off!  you'll  defend  me  !  " 

"  There's  no  one  there,  Kate,"  said  Simnel,  drop- 
ping on  his  knees  by  the  bedside,  and  taking  her 
hand  ;  "  there's  no  one  to  hurt  you,  my  child." 

"  I  was  dreaming  then,"  said  Kate  ;  "  oh,  such  a 

horrid  dream !    I  thought  I Who  are  these  1 " 

she  exclaimed,  looking  at  Barbara  and  Frank.  "  I'm 
scarcely  awake  yet,  I  think.  Why,  it's  Guardy,  of 
course !  and  you,  dear,  who  were  so  kind  to  me. 
But  how  are  you  here  together  1  I  can't  make  that 
out." 

"  This  is  my  wife,  Kate,"  said  Churchill ;  "  my 
wife,  of  whom  you  were  speaking  this  evening." 

"  Your  wife  !  ah,  I'm  so  glad  ;  I  never  thought  of 
that ;  I  never  thought  of  asking  her  who  she  was  ; 
I  only  knew  she  was,  oh,  so  kind  and  so  affection- 
ate with  me ;  and  it  was  because  she  was  your  wife. 


eh  1  Will  you  kiss  me  again,  dear  !  So  ;  and  again  ! 
What  a  sweet  soft  face  it  is  !  Ah,  he's  been  so  good 
to  me,  dear,  this  husband  of  yours  ;  and  I've  given 
him  such  trouble  for  so  many  years.  So  grave  and 
so  steady  he's  always  been,  that  I've  looked  upon 
him  as  quite  an  old  fellow,  and  never  thought  of  his 
marrying.  I — I'm  much  weaker  to-night,  I  think  ; 
the  pain  seems  to  have  left  my  side  ;  but  I  feel  so 
weak,  as  though  I  couldn't  raise  a  finger.  You're 
there,  Robert  \ " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Ay,  I  feel  your  hand -grip  now  !  You  miist  not 
mind  what  I  am  going  to  say,  Robert  ;  you  took  on 
so  before  ;  but  you'll  be  brave  now,  eh,  Robert  1  I 
— I  know  I'm  going  home, — to  my  long  home,  I 
mean  ;  and  I  want  to  say  how  happy,  and  peaceful, 
and  grateful  to  the  Lord,  I  am.  I've  often  thought 
of  this  time, — often  and  often  ;  and  wondered,— and 
I've  often  thought  it  would  be  like  this,  and  yet 
not  quite  in  this  way.  You  used  to  talk  to  me 
about  my  rashness,  Guardy, — in  riding,  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  dear  Kate  ;  and  you  always  promised  and 
you  never  did,  my  headstrong  child  ! " 

"  No,  Guardy,  I  didn't,  and  yet  I  tried  hard  ;  but 
I  hadn't  much  pleasure  elsewise,  had  1 1  Robert 
knows  that ;  and  I  did  so  enjoy  my  work  !  I've 
often  thought  it  might  come  when  I  was  with  the 
hounds,  and  that  would  have  been  dreadful !  All 
the  business  and  bother  in  the  field,  and  carried 
away  somewhere,  to  some  wretched  place,  where 
there 'd  have  been  no  one  near  to  care  for  me  ;  and 
now  I've  you  all  here,  and  that  kind  old  doctor ; 
and  oh,  thank  God,  for  all." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  she  asked  in, 
if  anything,  a  weaker  voice,  "  What's  become  of  the 
horse  1  does  any  one  know  1 — the  horse,  I  mean, 
that  did  this  1 " 

"  He  was  taken  home,  Kate,  so  Freeman  said. 
He's  a  good  deal  cut ;  but — " 

"  Oh  don't  let  him  come  to  grief,  Robert  !  It 
wasn't  his  fault,  poor  fellow  !  He  was  startled  by 
the — ah,  well ;  it's  all  over  now  !  Don't  frown  so, 
Robert ;  I  ought  to  have  known  better.  Lord  Clon- 
mel  always  said  he  had  a  temper  of  Lis  own  ;  but 
I  thought  I  could  do  anything,  and — .  Some  of 
them  will  crow  over  this,  won't  they?  Those  Jeffrey 
girls,  who  always  said  I  was  a  park-rider,  and  no 
good  at  fencing,  eh]  Well,  well,  that's  neither 
here  nor  there.  You  know  all  about  the  will, 
Guardy, — in  the  desk,  you  know  1  and  what  I  said 
about  your  having — and  Freeman  —and  the  men's 
wages  ;  and — " 

As  she  spoke  she  sunk  back,  and  seemed  to  fall 
asleep  at  once.  The  nurse,  who  had  been  hovering 
round,  advanced  and  looked  anxiously  at  her,  lay- 
ing her  finger  on  her  pulse,  and  peering  into  her 
face.  Reassured,  she  retired  again  ;  and  the  others, 
save  Simnel,  who  still  remained  kneeling  by  the 
bed,  resumed  their  places.    Then,  stretched  supine, 


292 


GLEANINGS    FROM    POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


and  without  addressing  herself  to  any  one,  Kate 
Mellon  began  to  talk  again.  Fragmentary,  discon- 
nected, incoherent  stntences  they  were  that  she 
littered  :  but,  listening  to  them,  Simnel  and  Frank 
Churchill  managed  to  make  out  that  her  head  was 
wandering,  and  that  she  was  running  through  pas- 
sages of  her  earlier  life. 

"  Ready ! "  she  said.  "All  right,  Dolphin  !  Now, 
tand  ; — why  don't  they  play  up  1  No  hoop  lit  yet ! 
Get  along,  Dolphin !  Ribbons  now !  Stand  up, 
man  I — why  doesn't  that  man  stand  up  1  So,  give 
him  his  head — that's  it.  C'halk  ;  more  chalk  ! — 
this  pad's  so  slippery,  I  shall  never  stand  on  it ; 
that's  better.  Now  we  go— one,  two,  three !  All 
right,  sir  ;  all  right,  madam  ;  told  you  I  should  clear 
it  Ah,  Charley!  Hold  the  hoop  lower— lower  yet. 


What's  he  at  1  I  shall  miss  it — miss  it  and  then — 
Slacken  your  curb,  miss,  or  she'll  rear !  So,  that's  it 
— easy  does  it.  Courage  now,— head  and  the  heart 
up  ;  hand  and  the  heel  down  !  Oh  he's  jumped 
short ! — he's  over !  he's  over  ! " 

She  gave  a  sharp  cry,  and  half  raised  herself  on 
to  the  pillow.  The  nurse  was  by  her  in  an  instant ; 
so  were  they  all.  Her  eyes  opened  at  first  dreamily  ; 
then  she  looked  round  and  smiled  sweetly.  "  Kiss 
me,  dear,"  she  said  to  Barbara.  "  Guardy  !  Robert, 
Robert !  kindest,  dearest  Robert,  I'm  —  going 
home!" 

Then,  with  tears  streaming  from  both  their  eyes, 
Frank  led  Barbara  away  ;  while,  haggard  and  rigid, 
Sinmel  knelt  by  the  bedside  lirmly  clutching  a 
dead  hand. 


OUR  JERUSALEM  PONY.  * 

[By  James  Patn.] 


AM  a  medical  man,  residing,  as  my 
wife  infonns  her  lelatives  in  the 
South,  "in  the  neighbourhood  of" 
Edinburgh ;  but  in  point  of  fact  we 
are  in  it,  the  nearest  villa-residences 
being  thirty  streets  off  at  the  very  least. 

"  Alfy,"  said  she,  coaxingly,  "  now  you 
are  getting  on   so  well,  my  love,  don't 
you  think  that  you  ought  to  buy  a  brougham  I  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  my  dear,"  returned 
I,"  i)retending  to  misunderstand  her,  "  buy  half-a- 
dozen  brooms  if  they  are  necessary,  by  aU  means, 
sweetest ;  but  I  thought  we  stocked  the  heuse 
when  I  moved,  at  your  request,  from  our  flat  into 
this  main-tloor." 

"  I  meant  a  carriage,  love — a  brough-am  ;  a  one- 
horse  brougham  would  be  quite  enough." 

"Why  not  say  Mr.  Axle's  prize  'drag '  at  oncel" 
replied  I,  laughing,  and  lighting  another  cigar : 
"  I'll  send  round  Betsy  in  the  morning,  with  my 
compliments,  and  I'll  buy  it  of  him  at  his  own 
figure." 

"It  w'ould  very  much  increase  your  practice," 
remarked  Leonora,  musingly ;  "  there's  nothing 
like  a  carriage  for  a  medical  man,  you  may  depend 
on  that ;  it  takes  him  where  skill  and  talent,  even 
such  as  yours,  Alfy,  would  never  carry  him." 

"  Yes,  love  ;  it  sometimes  takes  him  to  prison," 
remarked  I,  assentingly.  A  slight  pause  here 
took  place,  during  which  I  only  caught  one  word 
of  my  Leonora's,  and  even  that  was  not  intended 
for  me ;  it  sounded  exceedingly  like  "  Fiddle- 
stick ! " 

"Do  you  know  how  much  you  spend  in  the 
course  of   the  year  in  cabs,  Alfred?     Nothing! 


Oh,  don't  you  tell  me  naughty  fibs ;  you  men 
never  can  keep  any  account.  What  do  you  say, 
dear]  I  can't  quite  catch  what  you  are  saying. 
You  ivalk  !  Oh,  you  wicked  man,  you  don't  walk 
from  ten  to  five  every  day,  I'm  sure  ! " 

"  My  love,"  returned  1,  kissing  her,  "  my  remark 
was  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  'bus." 

"  Very  well,  Alfred,"  observed  Leonora,  with  a 
sigh,  and  as  though  the  discussion  was  closed  j 
"  all  I  have  to  say  is  this,  that  the  child's  ancles 
are  going." 

"  Going  I "  ejaculated  I,  with  unaff'ected  sur- 
prise ;  "  and  where  are  they  going  to  %  " 

"If  the  child's  being  lame  for  life  is  a  joke, 
Alfred — as  everything  seems,  indeed,  to  be  a  joke 
to  you — it's  all  well  and  good,  and  it  doesn't 
signify." 

"  He's  got  the  perambulator,"  observed  T,  with 
that  callousness  to  shame  which  is  the  husband's 
only  and  very  inadeqitate  defence,  the  unwarranted 
mackintosh  in  which  he  vainly  wraps  himself  from 
the  watery  foe  ;  "  he  can  keep  his  ancles  from 
going  in  that,  Leonora,  svirely." 

"Betsy  won't  push  it,"  sobbed  my  wife;  "she 
said  she'd  see  the  little  angel  fur-fur-further  first. 
Its  only  use  now  is  to  hold  the  umbrellas  in  the 
lobby." 

"  Then  we  must  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  get  a 
page,"  returned  I,  pleasantly. 

"  You've  promised  me  ^m  a  long  time,"  returned 
the  unrelenting  Leonora ;  "  but  I  wouldn't  trust 
that  child  to  be  butted  about  by  a  page— no,  not 
for  millions." 

"  I  don't  think  so  large  a  temptation  will  ever 
be  thrown  in  your  way,  my  love,"  remarked  I, 


By  permission  of  Messrs.  Chatto  and  Wiudus. 


OUR   JERUSALEM   PONY. 


293 


drily  ;  "  say  '  thousands.'  But  I  tell  you  what  I  will 
do,  Lenny  ;  I'll  get  a  Jerusalem  pony  for  him." 

"  A  pony  ! "  cried  she,  clapping  her  hands,  and 
^shutting  up  her  lachrymal  ducts  as  if  by  magic ; 
"  oh,  that'll  be  delicious !  " 

"A  Jeri(,salem  pony,"  observed  I  again,  with 
emi^hasis,  and  unwilling  that  an  expectation 
•should  be  aroused  of  some  Arab  steed ;  "  it  will 
only  be  a  Jerusalem." 

"  I  don't  care  whether  it  comes  from  Jerusalem 
or  not,"  replied  she,  in  evident  ignorance  that 
.the  expression  was  euphuistic  for  a  donkey  ;  "  I'd 


proprietor,  who,  without  giving  himself  an  instant's 
breath  for  a  comma,  and  far  less  for  consideration 
of  the  facts,  deposed — that  it  was  middle-aged, 
steady,  and  well-conducted,  would  carry  a  lady 
side- ways,  didn't  know  how  to  startle.  Lie  down  % 
Bless  you,  never!    A  child  might  ride  him  a-hunt- 

ing  ;  while  as  for  kicking 

It  may  have  been  that  the  philosophic  beast  was 
annoyed  by  so  much  flattery ;  it  may  have  been 
that  fate  herself  interposed  to  save  my  precious 
infant ;  or  it  may  have  been  a  gadfly  ;  but  certain 
it  is  that  at  the  word  "kicking,"  that  donkey 


"  A    SCORE    OF    HUMAN    HEADS    REGARDED    ME."       (BrOlCH  by   Vl' .  EoJsfOll.) 


just  as  soon  liave  it  from  there  as  from  Wales  or 
;Shetland." 

"  Ha  ! "  said  I ;  for  I  had  nothing  else  to  say, 
■since  I  had  not  the  heart,  nor  indeed  the  courage, 
to  undeceive  her. 

"And,  Alfy,  darling,"  observed  she,  as  she 
trippingly  left  the  room  to  communicate  this  piece 
■of  news  to  her  offspring,  "do  please,  if  you 
possibly  can,  let  it  be  a  piebald." 

"  Very  well,  my  love  ;  I  will,  if  I  possibly  can," 
returned  I ;  "  but  I  confess  I  do  not  think  it  very 
likely." 

On  ascertain  Saturday  evening,  some  time  after 
this  conversation,  I  chanced  to  be  at  a  small 
village  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Edinburgh,  which 
forms  a  sort  of  watering-place  to  that  metropolis — 
that  is  to  say,  which  boasts  of  a  pier,  a  wheel-of- 
fortune,  a  few  bathing-machines,  and  a  stud  of 
Jerusalem  ponies  ;  and  on  one  of  these  animals  I 
fiet  my  eye  and  my  mind. 

I  made  inquiry  concerning  its  merits  of   the 


began  a/)a«  de  deux  wath  its  hind-legs,  the  dura- 
tion and  violence  of  which  I  never  before  saw 
equalled.  "  It's  only  his  play  " — began  the  hypo- 
critical proprietor.  I  congealed  the  remainder  of 
his  sentence  by  a  glance  of  incredulous  scorn,  and 
requested  to  see  some  smaller  specimens — infant 
donkeys,  who  had  left  off  milk-diet,  but  had  not 
yet  been  taught  vicious  tricks.  Had  he  any  such 
that  he  could  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart  and 
recommend  to  the  father  of  a  young  family  1  Had 
he  any  under  a  year  old  1 

Young  donkeys]  Of  course,  he  had  young 
donkeys  ;  scores — hundreds.  Under  one  year  old  1 
Certainly  not.  How  could  he  have?  Nothing 
was  younger  than  one  ?    How  could  it  be  ? 

I  turned  away  in  disgust,  and  should  have 
departed  donkeyless,  but  that  a  Deus  ex  machind 
— a  fellow  belonging  to  the  bathing-machines — 
who  seemed  to  know  this  man  and  his  humour, 
intervened,  and  solved  the  difficulty.  He  explained 
to  him,  with  an  elaborate  patience,  which  should 


294 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


cam  him  the  lately  vacated  place  in  the  College 
of  Preceptore,  that  there  was  a  smaller  measure 
of  time  than  a  year,  and  that  a  Jerusalem  pony 
might  be  any  niuuber  of  months  old  short  of  a 
twelvemonth. 

I  accompanied  these  two  to  the  donkey 
emporium,  purchased  my  young  ass  for  ten 
shillings,  hired  a  boy  to  lead  it  home  by  a  straw- 
halter,  and  imagined  the  affair  to  be  concluded. 

When  myself  and  prize  reached  our  residence  in 
Paradise  Row,  about  eleven  o'clock  p.m.,  he  had,  in 
addition  to  his  four  pei-sonal  attendants,  who  had 
remained  faithful,  a  "  tail "  of  about  one  hundred 
people,  including  two  policemen,  and  three  or  four 
highly  respectable  persons  who  wanted  to  go  the 
other  way,  but  who  were  compelled  to  foUow  the 
stream  and  accompany  us. 

I  had  forgotten,  when  I  made  my  purchase, 
that  our  back-green  was,  so  to  si>eak,  down-stairs, 
and  only  ajjproachable  by  the  area  steps  and 
through  the  kitchen  passage  ;  but  often  during 
the  course  of  my  triumphal  march  this  difficulty 
had  presented  itself  to  my  procrastinating  mind, 
and  it  had  now  to  be  solved  :  "  How  were  we  to 
get  the  Jerusalem  pony  into  his  uncomeatable 
paddock  ] " 

"  Come,"  cried  the  policeman,  as  we  vainly  urged 
the  animal  to  descend  into  his  future  residence, 
"  this  won't  do,  you  know ;  you  must  move  on, 
sir;  you  mustn't  be  obstructing  the  street." 
"  Obstructing  your  grandmother,"  cried  I,  pale 
with  passion  at  the  idea  of  the  law  interfering  to 
oppress  what  it  was  intended  to  protect ;  "  is 
there  not  room  in  Paradise  Row  for  this  poor 
young  creature  as  well  as  myself?  Move  on, 
indeed  !  that  is  the  very  thing  I  want  to  do ! 
A  1,  take  the  Jerusalem  pony's  fore-legs ;  A  2,  take 
his  hind-quarters,  and  be  very  careful ;  and  carry 
him  down  those  steps." 

"  Hooray  !  "  shouted  the  crowd,  in  a  state  of 
wild  excitement,  and  delighted  with  my  com- 
manding air. 

"Take  him  down,"  cried  I,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder  ;  "  you  had  better  take  him  down  when  I 
tell  you!" 

"  Hooray  ! "  shouted  the  crowd  ;  "  take  him 
down,  or  down  with  the  Peelers." 

The  policemen  looked  at  me,  looked  at  the 
assembled  thousands — for  the  street  was  filled 
by  this  time  from  end  to  end,  and  surged  into  the 
adjoining  squares — looked  at  one  another,  and 
then  proceeded  to  obey  me  without  a  murmur. 
They  took  up — they  had  never  taken  up  such  a 
customer  before — the  astonished  quadruped  in  the 
manner  I  had  suggested,  and  carried  him  safe  and 
sound  down  the  area  steps. 

Oh,  the  relief  of  mind  and  body  when  I  saw 
that  Jei-usalem  pony  deposited  safely  in  our  back- 
green  1  the  gratitude  with  which  I  overwhelmed 


those  guardians  of  public  safety !  the  recklessness 
of  expense  with  which  1  opened  bottle  after  bottle 
of  superior  beer  for  their  refreshment  ! 

I  woke  Leonora,  to  recount  to  her  all  that  I  had 
done,  and  had  some  ditficulty  to  prevent  her  rush- 
ing to  the  window  to  look  at  the  new  arrival. 

"  I  don't  even  know  wliat  a  Jerusalem  pony  is," 
urged  she  ;  "  I  shall  be  lying  awake,  and  trying  to 
picture  what  unusual " 

At  this  juncture,  her  doubts  were  set  at  rest  for 
ever  by  the  most  trenxendous  braying  that  ever 
issued  from  the  mouth  of  jackass  since  the  days  of 
Balaam ;  it  was  exactly  beneath  our  bed-room 
window,  and  sounded  like  a  brass  band  composed 
of  ophicleides  out  of  repair. 

"  Why,  it's  only  a  dreadful  donkey,  Alfred," 
cried  Leonora,  with  just  indignation. 

"  It's  forty  donkeys,"  cried  I,  penitently,  and 
stopping  my  ears.  Never,  indeed,  shall  I  forget 
that  noise,  which  seems  even  now  to  be  ringing 
through  the  chambers  of  memory. 

We  retired  to  rest,  however — that  is  to  say,  we 
lay  down  and  listened.  Sometimes  we  would 
nourish  a  faint  hope  that  all  v/as  over,  that  the 
Jerusalem  pony  would  himself  require  the  bless- 
ings of  sleep,  and  become  quiet ;  and  sometimes 
the  real  horrors  of  our  situation  could  not  be 
dispelled  by  any  such  baseless  fancy.  I  think  the 
creature  must  have  been  composing  a  coronach  or 
lament  for  his  absent  mother  or  other  relatives } 
for  after  very  short  pauses,  such  as  might  have 
been  given  by  any  donkey  to  composition,  he 
would  burst  forth  with  a  torrent  of  discordant 
wailing  of  about  fourteen  lines  in  length — as  far 
as  we  could  judge — and  ending  in  an  Alexandrine. 
It  was  horrible  from  the  first,  and  rapidly  grew  to 
be  unbearable.  At  2.30  a.m.  I  put  on  my  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  and  taking  down  the  rope  from 
one  of  the  window-cui'tains,  I  sallied  forth  into  the 
back -green.  Sleep  had  of  course  been  banished  from 
every  other  inhabitant  of  Paradise  Row  as  well  a» 
from  ourselves ;  a  score  of  human  heads  regarded 
me  from  far  and  near,  from  first  flat  to  attic,  with 
interest  and  satisfaction.  They  believed  in  their 
foolish  and  revengeful  hearts,  I  knew,  that  I  was 
about  to  hang  the  Jerusalem  pony.  I  was  not 
going  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 

I  approached  the  animal,  uttering  sounds  such 
as,  in  the  mouths  of  his  late  attendants,  I  had 
observed  to  give  him  pleasure  ;  but  I  might  just  as 
well  have  read  aloud  the  Act  for  Prevention  of 
Cruelty  to  Animals.  He  turned  away ;  he  fled  ; 
he  even  lifted  up  his  heels  against  me.  Disgusted 
but  not  dispirited  by  this  conduct,  I  pursued  the 
flying  beast  with  persevering  vigour,  despite  the 
fluttering  of  my  lengthy  garment,  and  the  in- 
creasing coolness  of  my  unprotected  legs.  T 
caught  him  ;  I  tied  up  liis  jaws — securely,  as  I 
thought — with  the  curtain-rope  ;  and  retired  amid 


THE   SPANISH   ARMADA. 


295 


■murmurs  of  applause  to  my  apartment,  leaving 
him  speechless  and  discomfited. 

Better,  far  bettei  would  it  have  been  had  I  never 
attempted  this.  The  great  harmonies  of  Nature 
are  not  to  be  hushed  by  the  rude  hands  of  Man. 
Scarcely  had  my  head  touched  the  pillow,  when  the 
bx-ay,  half-stifled,  pitiful,  more  harassing  beyond 
expression  than  before,  recommenced  with  hideous 
pertinacity,  and  increased  in  volume  with  every 
note.  Presently  the  rope  gave  way,  and  the  full 
tide  of  song  burst  forth  again  from  that  Jerusalem 
pony  as  the  pent-up  waters  from  an  ineffectual 
dam  ;  while  the  cock,  imagining,  no  doubt,  that  it 
was  dawn,  and  accusing  itself  of  over-sleeping, 
and  permitting  another  creature  to  be  the  first  to 
salute  the  sun,  added  its  shrill  tribute  to  the 
din. 

"  I'll  cut  that  donkey's  throat,"  cried  I,  leaping 
out  of  bed,  and  fumbling  for  a  razor  ;  "  the  organ 
is  situated  so  low  down  in  his  larynx  that  nothing 
less  will  stop  him." 

'•'  Give  him  chloroform,"  cried  Leonora,  sarcasti- 
cally ;  "  you're  so  fond  of  that." 

This  remark,  intended  to  wound  my  professional 
feelings,  was,  as  sometimes  happens,  the  very  best 


advice  that  could  be  given  to  me.  I  snatched  up 
an  enormous  phial  of  that  divine  essence,  and 
again  rushed  down  to  the  back-green  to  silence  the 
domestic  enemy.  This  time  I  conquered ;  in 
fifteen  minutes — it  must  be  confessed,  after  tre- 
mendous exertion — I  was  standing  in  my  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers  upon  that  prostrate  Jerusalem 
pony  like  another  Rarey ;  a  victim  to  science,  he 
reposed  like  a  sleeping  infant  who  has  had  enough 
of  his  bottle. 

This  victory,  achieved  in  the  sight  of  respectable 
though  sleepless  myriads,  has  been  quite  an 
advertisement  to  me.  My  practice  is  increasing, 
and  the  child's  ancles  are  being  rapidly  strength- 
ened. A  breach  knocked  through  the  wall  of  our 
back-green  permits  the  immediate  cause  of  this 
prosperity  to  retire,  after  his  daily  labours,  to  a 
pasture  at  a  considerable  distance.  Leonora  is 
more  than  mollified.  She  has  withdrawn  the 
hasty  expression  once  made  use  of,  about  some- 
thing being  no  more  like  another  thing  than  a 
horse-chestnut  is  like  a  chestnut  horse,  and  con- 
fesses that  a  Jerusalem  pony  is  a  very  good  pony 
after  all.  Her  sole  regret  now  is  that  he  is  not  a 
I)iebald. 


m\      who  list  to  hear 
our  noble  Eng- 
land's praise. 
I  tell  of  the  thrice 
famous      deeds 
she  wrought  in 
ancient  days, 
AVhen  that  great 
fleet    invincible 
aganst  her  bore 
in  vain 
The  richest  spoils 
of  Mexico,  the 
stoutest    hearts 
of  Spain. 
It  A\  us  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm  summer 

day 
There  came  a  gallant  merchant-ship  full  sail  to 

Plymouth  Bay ; 
Her  crew  hath  seen  Castile's  black  fleet  beyond 

Aurigny's  Isle, 
At  earliest  twilight,   on  the  waves  lie  heaving 

many  a  mile  ; 
At  sunrise  she  escaped  their  van,  by  God's  especial 
grace ; 


THE    SPANISH    AEMADA.^ 

[By  Lord  Macaulay.] 


a«|TTEND,    all    ye  |  And  the  tall  Pinta,  till  the  noon,  had  held  her  close 


in  chase. 
Forthwith  a  guard  at  every  gun  was  placed  along 

the  wall ; 
The  beacon  blazed  upon  the  roof  of  Edgcumbe's 

lofty  hall ; 
Many  a  light  fishing-bark  put  out  to  pry  along  tlie 

coast  ; 
And  with  loose  rein  and  bloody  spur  rode  inland 

many  a  post. 
With  his  white  hair  unbonneted  the  stout  old 

sheriff"  comes ; 
Behind  him  march  the  halberdiers,   before  him 

sound  the  drums  ; 
His  yeomen,  round  the  market-cross,  make  clear 

an  ample  space. 
For  there  behoves  him  to  set  up  the  standard  of 

her  Grace. 
And  haughtily  the  trumpets  peal,  and  gaily  dance 

the  bells. 
As  slow  upon  the  labouring  wind  the  royal  blazon 

swells. 
Look  how  the  lion  of  the  sea  lifts  up  his  ancient 

crown, 
And  underneath  his  deadly  paw  treads  the  gay 

lilies  down. 


•  From  "  Lays  of  Ancient  Eome,"  by  permission  of  Messrs   Longmans  and  Co. 


296 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


So  stalked  he  when  he  turned  to  flight,  on  that 

famed  Picard  field, 
Bohemia's  plume,  and  Genoa's  bow,  and  Caesar's 

eagle  shield : 
So  glared   he   when   at   Agincourt   in   wrath  he 

turned  to  bay, 
And  crushed  and  torn    beneath  his    paws    the 

princely  hunters  lay. 
Ho !  strike  the  flag-staif  deep,  Sir  knight ;  ho  ! 

scatter  flowers,  fair  maids  : 
Ho  !  gunners,  fire  a  loud  sal  ate  :   ho  !  gallants, 

draw  your  blades  ; 
Thou  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously ;  ye  breezes,  waft 

her  wide  ; 


The  fisher  left  his  skis'  to  rock  on  Tamar's  glitter- 
ing waves. 
The  rugged  miners  poured  to  war  from  Mendip's 

sunless  caves. 
O'er  Longleat's  towers,  o'er  Cranbourne's  oaks, 

the  fiery  herald  flew  ; 
He   roused  the   shepherds    of    Stonehenge,    the 

rangers  of  Beaulieu. 
Right  sharp  and  quick  the  bells  all  night  rang  out 

from  Bristol  town, 
And  ere  the  day  three  hundred  horse  had  met  on 

Clifton  down  ; 
The  sentinel  on  Whitehall  gate  looked  forth  iutof 

the  night, 


ilwhsi,  CAME  SpXJREISG  in."      (D-uau  hij  J.  Xash.) 


Our  glorious  Semper  Eadem,  the  banner  of  our 

pride. 
The  freshening  breeze  of  eve  unfurled  that  banner's 

massy  fold, 
The  parting  gleam  of  sunshine  kissed  that  haughty 

scroll  of  gold  ; 
Night  sank  upon  the  dusky  beach,  and  on  the 

purple  sea, — 
Such  light  in  England  ne'er  had  been,  nor  ne'er 

again  shall  be. 
From  Eddystone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Lynn 

to  Milford  Bay, 
That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as 

the  day ; 
For  swift  to  east  and  swift  to  west  the  ghastly 

war-flame  spread  ; 
High  on  St.  Michael's  Mount  it  shone  ;  it  shone 

on  Beachy  Head. 
Far  on  the  deep  the  Spaniard  saw,  along  each 

southern  shire, 
Cape  beyond  cape,  in  endless  range,  those  twink- 
ling points  of  fire ; 


And  saw  o'erhangingEichmond  Hill,  the  streak  of 

blood-red  light. 
Then  bugle's  note  and  cannon's  roar  the  death- 

like  silence  broke. 
And  with  one  start,  and  with  one  cry,  the  royal 

city  woke. 
At  once  on  all  her  stately  gates  arose  the  answer- 
ing fires  ; 
At  once  the  loud  alarum  clashed  from  all  her 

reeling  spires  ; 
From  all  the  batteries  of  the  Tower  pealed  loud 

the  voice  of  fear  ; 
And  all  the  thousand  masts  of  Thames  sent  back  a 

louder  cheer  : 
And  from  the  furthest  wards  was  heard  the  rush 

of  hurrying  feet. 
And  the  broad  streams  of  flags  and  pikes  rushed 

down  each  roaring  street  : 
And  broader  still  became  the  blaze,  and  loudor 

still  the  din, 
As  fast  from  every  village  round  the  horse  came 

spurring  in  : 


WHAT   I   WENT   THROUGH   TO   GET   HER. 


297 


And  eastward  straight,  from  wild  Blackheath,  the 

warlike  errant  went, 
And  raised  in  many  an  ancient  hall  the  gallant 

squires  of  Kent. 
Southward  from  Surrey's  pleasant  hills  flew  those 

bright  couriers  forth  ; 
High  on  bleak  Hampstead's  swarthy  moor  they 

started  for  the  North ; 
And  on,  and  on,  without  a  pause,  untired  they 

bounded  still. 
All  night  from  tower  to  tower  they  sprang  ;  they 

sprang  from  hill  to  hill, 
'Till  the  proud  Peak  unfurled  the  flag  o'er  Darwen's 

rocky  dales, 
Till  like  volcanoes  flared  to  Heaven  the  stormy 

hills  of  Wales, 


Till  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze  on  Malvern's 

lonely  height. 
Till  streamed  in  crimson  on  the  wind  the  Wrekin's 

crest  of  light, 
Till  broad  and  fierce  the  star  came  forth  on  Ely's 

stately  fane, 
And  tower  and  hamlet  rose  in  arms  o'er  all  the 

boundless  plain  ; 
Till  Belvoir's  lordly  terraces  the  sign  to  Lincoln 

sent, 
And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on  o'er  the  wide 

vale  of  Trent ; 
Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  fire  that  burned  on  Gaunt's 

embattled  pile, 
And  the  red  glare  of  Skiddaw  roused  the  burghers 

of  Carlisle. 


WHAT  I  WENT  THROUGH  TO  GET   HEE. 

[By  Lt.-Colonel  Hough.] 


'  AST  year  was  an  eventful  one  for  me  : 
I  had  a  touch  of  the  gout,  the  wrong 
horse  won  the  Derby,  my  principal 
tenant  insisted  on  my  helping  him  to 
drain,  and  I  lost  a  lawsuit.  So  that 
when  I  heard  that  Miss  Sarah  Potts 

likely  to  inherit  the  property  of  her 

^  paternal  uncle.  Colonel  Sir  George  Potts,  late 
governor  of  Semetary  Island,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  I  had  danced  much  and  carried  flirtation  to 
the  very  verge  of  proposal  to  that  young  lady, 
whose  beauty  had  always  fascinated,  while  her 
^ood  temper  had  charmed  me.  Indeed,  she  had 
only  needed  this  touch  from  the  philosopher's  stone 
to  render  her  irresistible  ;  so  I  packed  up  my  port- 
manteau and  started  for  Scarborough,  where  the 
Potts  family  were  then  residing. 
Veni,  vidi,  vici  ! 

"  But,"  whispered  the  dearest  and  most  sensible 
of  girls,  as  I  wrapped  her  opera-cloak  round  her 
pearly  shoulders,  on  the  most  eventful  of  nights, 
"  oh,  Charles,  beware  how  you  offend  my  uncle, 
and,  above  all  things,  humour  my  aunt  !" 

If  I  pride  myself  upon  anything,  it  is  my  power 
of  making  myself  agreeable  to  everybody,  of 
whatever  age,  sex,  or  condition — indeed,  I  have 
reason  to  suppose  that  some  of  my  friends  con- 
sider me  actually  stupid,  so  nicely  can  I  adapt 
my  conversation  to  my  company — and  it  was 
with  a  confident  heart  and  firm  hand  that  I  rang 
the  bell  of  Colonel  Potts's  lodgings  on  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

The  door    opened  with    a   suddenness    which 
startled  me,  and  I  found  myself  opposite  a  six- 
feet  footman,  tall,  stiff",  and  erect  as  a  Potsdam 
2  L 


grenadier,  who  went,  at  my  desire,  to  see  if  his 
master  was  at  home,  and  then  returned  with  an 
affirmative  answer,  and  heralded  me  up-stairs. 

As  I  entered  the  apartment,  I  heard  a  rustle, 
and  saw  the  door  of  an  inner  room  close,  which 
distracted  my  thoughts  for  a  moment,  so  that 
it  required  a  violent  effort  of  will  to  concentrate 
my  attention  on  the  object  before  me.  The  object 
before  me  was  a  stout,  short  gentleman  of  about 
fifty,  with  white  hair,  white  whiskers,  and  very 
shaggy  white  eye-brows — a  chilling  uniformity  of 
colour,  somewhat  relieved  by  his  having  yellows 
instead  of  whites  to  his  eyes,  while  the  same 
delicate  primrose  tinge  spread  over  the  surface 
of  his  cheeks  and  forehead,  the  whole  countenance 
being  warmed  by  the  rich  rosy  tint  of  his  nose. 
He  wore  grey  trousers,  and  a  frock-coat  not 
buttoned  so  closely  as  altogether  to  hide  his 
fine  linen  shirt-frill  and  buff  waistcoat.  He 
carried  his  watch  in  his  trouser-fob,  had  a  great 
bunch  of  seals  jingling  and  swaying  about  his 
epigastric  regions,  wore  a  heavy  gold  double 
eye-glass  round  his  neck,  choked  himself  up  in 
a  satin  stock  with  a  buckle  behind  it,  and  was 
altogether  of  the  "  old  school." 

"  I  knew  Miss  Potts  formerly,  sir,"  said  I,  plung- 
ing in  at  once ;  "  indeed,  I  may  say,  I  was  intimate 
with  her  family  ;  so,  seeing  her  here,  and  learning 
that  she  was  at  present  residing  with  you,  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  of  calling " 

"  No  liberty  at  all,  sir  ;  as  a  friend  of  my  late 
brother,  I  am  delighted  to  make  your  acquain- 
tance. Pray,  be  seated  ;  Lady  Potts  will  be  down 
directly." 

And   we  began   to  converse   about  a   variety 


298 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


of  topics,  on  some  of  which  I  found  myself 
expressing  very  singuh^r  opinions,  for,  in  my 
anxiety  to  bring  the  conversation  round  to  Sarah, 
I  said  I  hardly  knew  what,  till  at  last,  fearing 
he  would  form  a  bad  opinion  of  me,  I  apologised 
for  my  inattention,  and  told  him  right  out  that 
I  came  as  a  suitor  for  his  niece's  hand. 

"  Quite  right,  Mr.  Pans  ;  you  have  acted  in  a 
very  honourable  and  straightforward  manner. 
Yes,  you  have  done  well  to  apply  first  to  the  com- 
manding officer  for  leave  to -" 

"  A-ahem  1 "  coughed  some  one  in  the  next 
room  ;  for  a  folding-door  which  spread  across 
from  wall  to  wall,  but  which  did  not  fit  veiy 
closely  to  the  floor  or  ceiling,  was  the  only  par- 
tition separating  the  apartments,  through  which 
sound  circulated  with  such  ease  that  a  poor 
lady  could  not  even  clear  her  throat  without 
being  overheard. 

" By-the-bye,"  continued  the  colonel,  "as  our 
conference  will  probably  be  a  longer  one  than  I  at 
first  supposed,  I  will  just  finish  a  little  pressing 
matter  I  was  engaged  upon  when  you  came  in, 
and  return.  I  shall  not  be  long."  He  left  the 
room  by  the  outer  door,  and  presently  after  I 
heard  that  of  the  next  open  and  shut,  and  then 
voices. 

"  Whish — whish — slush — wish — shish." 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  the  dickens  am  I  to 
sayl" 

"  Hush— sh— sh— sh.    Whish— shish— whish." 

"  WumiirwurrerwUr,"  etc.  etc. 

The  colonel  had  gone  to  his  commanding-officer 
for  orders.     In  about  ten  minutes  he  came  back. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "  for  keeping  you  wait- 
ing so  long.  Now  for  this  matter  we  were  speak- 
ing of.  First,  let  me  explain  to  you  how  far  my 
authority  extends  over  my  niece.  She  can,  of 
course,  marry  whom  she  pleases  ;  but  if  I  do  not 
approve  of  the  match,  I  should  not  consider  myself 
bound  to  do  anything  for  her  ;  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  and — and  Lady  Potts,  were  pleased  with 
her  choice,  she  would  continue  to  hold  the  place 
she  at  present  occupies  in  my  \\dll,  and  I  should 
pay  down  as  her  marriage-portion  £x." 

The  voice  went  on,  but  what  it  uttered  was 
inaudible  to  my  mind  for  the  next  five  minutes. 
The  sum  represented  by  x  so  far  exceeded  my 
expectations,  that  I  was  lost,  bewildered,  breath- 
less with  anxiety  at  the  bare  idea  of  losing  my 
dearast  Sarah  :  never  had  my  imagination  painted 
her  charms  in  such  glowing  colours. 

"And  now,"  the  colonel  was  saying,  when  I 
had  somewhat  recovered,  "I  should  like  to  ask 
you  a  few  questions.  It  is  the  fashion  now-a- 
days  to  depreciate  the  advantages  of  birth  and 
blood ;  to  me  they  are  of  vital  importance  :  I 
consider  that  there  is  as  much  difference  between 
a  gentleman  and  a  plebeian,  as  between  a  race- 


horse and  a  donkey.  I  should  like  to  hear  a  few 
details  about  your  family." 

While  I  was  yet  descanting  on  the  merits  of 
my  forefathers,  a  dark  object,  observable  through 
the  slit  at  the  bottom  of  the  partition,  was  sud- 
denly removed,  the  sunbeams  gleamed  through 
in  one  unbroken  line,  and,  by  a  singular  coinci- 
dence, Lady  Potts  immediately  afterwards  entered 
the  room.  She  was  a  tall,  bony  woman,  with  a 
Roman  nose,  large  under-jaw,  muddy  green  eyes, 
sallow  complexion,  and  low  forehead.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  magnificent  velvet  gown,  wonderful 
black  hair,  a  small  lace-cap,  and  chains,  rings,  and 
bracelets  costly  enough  to  make  a  garrotter  howl 
at  the  thought  that  she  never  ventured  out  on 

foot  after  dusk.     Her  age  was  about Whither 

are  you  hurrying  me,  pen  indiscreet  !  respect  the 
weakness  of  a  weaker  sex,  and  state  ambiguously 
that  her  age  was  forty — more  or  less.  The  lady 
was  stately,  and  alluded  much  to  her  late  ele- 
vated position — in  the  colonies,  I  mean,  not  be- 
hind the  door. 

"  The  weather  is  very  warm,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I  suppose  it  is,"  she  replied  ;  "but  after 
so  many  years'  residence  in  a  tropical  climate,  I 
do  not  feel  the  heat  so  much  as  others." 

"Ah  I  no,  you  would  not.  The  scenery  about 
here  is  very  pretty." 

"  Is  it  ?  I  dare  say.  Everything  was  so  bright 
and  on  so  gigantic  a  scale  in  Semetary  Island,  that 
these  muddy  waves,  stunted  trees,  and  little 
hillocks  seem  hardly  worth  looking  at." 

"  Oh,  no  doubt.  Ah,  I  think  I  saw  you  at  the 
Assembly  Rooms  last  night ;  very  fine,  are  they 
not?" 

She  smiled  loftily,  and  gently  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  no  judge.     My  ball-room  at  the  palace,' 
&c.  &c. 

It  was  very  hard  work,  but  I  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  making  a  favourable  impression ;  for 
Lady  Potts  made  a  sign  to  her  Sir,  who,  being 
well  trained,  immediately  took  up  his  cue. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "to  return  to  the  matter  you 
have  called  here  to  speak  about  :  we  must  know 
a  little  more  of  you  before  we  can  make  any 
promise.  We  leave  this  the  day  after  to-morrow, 
and  return  to  Norfolk,  to  be  in  time  for 
the  1st  of  September.  Come  down  and  help 
me  to  murder  the  partridges.  Are  you  a  good 
shot ] " 

****** 

I  dressed  myself  as  fast  as  I  could,  in  hopes  of 
getting  a  word  with  Sarah  before  dinner;  and 
the  dearest  girl  anticipated  my  wish,  for,  on 
opening  the  drawing-room  door,  I  saw  she  was 
there  alone. 

Time  was  precious,  so  the  one  minute  devoted 
to  rapture  being  over,  I  said,  "Adored  one,  can 
you  give  me  a  hint  ]  " 


WHAT   I    WENT   THROUGH   TO   GET   HER. 


299 


"  Yes,  you  made  a  favourable  impression  at 
Scarborough,  and  will  easily  get  on  ;  at  least,  I 
always  do.  They  both  spoil  me.  Never  mind  a 
little  roughness ;  they  mean  nothing.  Aunt  is 
the  dearest,  most  lovable,  kindest  of  women,  so 
long  as  she  has  her  own  way,  and  is  not  contra- 
dicted. She  is  rather  a  bigot,  so  you  had  better 
put  your  liberality  in  your  pocket ;  and  she  thinks 
a  good  deal  of  her  family — was  a  Miss  Mont- 
gomery, and  brought  this  estate  to  uncle." 

"  Ah !  and  Sir  George  ? " 

"  Well,  you  must  be  very  good,  and  keep  your 
temper.  Uncle  is  a  dear,  dear  man,  but  rather 
inclined  to  order  people  about.  You  see,  aunt 
rules  him,  so  he  likes  to  rule  others.  His  temper 
is  somewhat  violent  at  times,  but  he  soon  comes 
round,  if  not  opposed  ;  and  then  he  tries  to  atone 
for  what  he  has  said  or  done  while  angry.  Oh, 
I  almost  forgot ;  above  all  things,  be  very 
punctual ;  if  you  are  ever  late  for  breakfast  or 
dinner,  I  will  not  answer  for  the  consequences ; 
and  is  there  anything  else  ?  yes,  if  you  could  take 
snuflF,  it  would  please  him.  There  goes  the 
bugle  !"  And  to  the  tune  of  "  O,  the  Roast  Beef 
of  Old  England,"  Sir  George  and  Lady  Potts 
entered  the  room. 

"Welcome,  Mr.  Pans,  to  Montgomery  Hall," 
said  the  lady,  graciously  according  me  her  hand. 

"How  d'ye  do?  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the 
colonel.  "  Ready  for  the  birds  to-morrow  ]  Have 
a  pinch  ] " 

Mindful  of  the  final  hint  I  had  received  from 
Sarah,  I  accepted  the  offer,  and  tried  to  drop  the 
snuif  while  pretending,  with  much  noise  and  ap- 
parent enjoyment,  to  draw  it  up  into  my  nose  ;  but 
a  few  grains  more  volatile  than  the  rest  insisted 
on  making  their  way  in,  and  I  found  it  necessary 
to  blow  that  organ. 

"  NifF,  niff.  Bless  my  soul,  how  disgusting  ! 
NifF,  nifF.  What  can  it  be  ?  Why,  it  is  your 
handkerchief  !  It's  musk  !  Young  man,  you  are 
offensive  ;  come  with  me,"  said  Sir  George. 

I  am  not  over-patient  by  nature,  and  felt  all  the 
blood  in  my  body  fly  to  my  face  at  this  insult ; 
but  I  thought  of  the  stake  I  was  playing  for, 
swallowed  my  anger,  and  followed  him. 

"Throw  the  thing  down.  John,  take  that 
handkei-chief  away,"  said  he,  when  we  had  reached 
the  hall.  "  This  way,  Mr.  Pans  ;  "  and  he  led  me 
into  his  study,  opened  a  folding  washing-stand, 
poured  water  into  the  basin,  and  said,  pointing  to 
it,  "  Wash  !  " 

I  obeyed  him,  and  we  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room. 

"My  lady  is  served,"  the  butler  presently 
announced;  and  as  he  did  not  speak  literally, 
but  metaphorically,  I  offered  my  arm. 

When  the  ladies  had  withdrawn,  the  colonel 
ensconced  himself  in  an   easy-chair,   and  began 


pumping  me  in  so  obvious  a  manner  that  I  had 
no  difliculty  in  flowing  to  his  entire  satisfaction. 
At  the  end  of  about  a  bottle,  he  threw  his  napkin 
over  his  head,  and  said — 

"  Ring  when  you  want  more  claret ;  when  you 
have  had  enough,  go  to  the  ladies,  and  make  no 
noise." 

And  presently  he  snored. 

When  I  entered  the  drawing-room,  I  found 
Sarah  asleep  on  the  sofa,  and  Lady  Potts  hanging 
over  a  basket  adorned  with  pink  silk. 

"  Was  it  a  poor  little  dear  suffering  angel,  den  ! 
Was  it  a  pretty  creature,  with  its  little  brown 
eyes ! " 

"  What  a  beautiful  dog  ! "  I  exclaimed.  "  Is  it 
ill?" 

"Oh,  very,  very  ill.  Poor  dear  Flora,  she  has 
quite  lost  her  appetite,  she  who  always  enjoyed 
her  food  so  !  She  has  eaten  nothing  to-day  but  the 
wing  of  a  chicken  and  a  few  macaroons." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  examine  her,  I  may  be 
of  some  service  ;  I  am  used  to  dogs.  Ah  !  I  see, 
has  short  breath,  finds  it  diflScult  to  stand.  My 
dear  Lady  Potts,  if  this  dog  is  not  attended  to,  she 
will  die." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Pans.  Poor  Flora  i  what  shall  I 
do]" 

"  Well,  I  think  I  could  save  her  if  she  were  left 
entirely  in  my  hands ;  but,  above  all  things,  nr 
one  must  feed  her  but  myself." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Mr.  Pans  ;  I  will  give  direc 
tions.  Oh,  I  shall  be  ever  grateful  to  you  if  you 
should  prove  the  blessed  instrument  of  restoring 
my  sweet  doggy  to  health  again !  " 

Lady  Potts  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  room 
for  some  work,  and  I  whispered  to  Sarah,  "  Will 
that  do  ] " 

"  Ah,  you  dreadful  hypocrite ;  it  is  quite  shock- 
ing !  I  shall  never  know  when  to  believe  you  in 
earnest,"  she  replied,  looking  half-frightened,  half- 
amused. 

"  It  is  very  unpleasant.  Nothing  but  the  hope 
of  winning  you  could  make  me  stoop  to  such  a 
course  of  proceeding." 

"  O  yes ;  I  know  it  was  necessary  :  indeed,  it 
was  I  who  advised  it.  But  whatever  my  uncle 
and  aunt's  foibles,  and  however  they  behave  to 
others,  they  are  most  kind  to  me,  and  it  pains  me 
to  see  their  weak  points  so  drawn  out." 

The  colonel  came  in,  yawning,  had  a  cup  of  tea, 
and  then  told  me  to  get  the  backgammon-board, 
and  play  a  bit  with  him ;  which  I  did,  playing 
as  badly  as  possible,  and  never  taking  him  up 
but  once,  when  I  could  not  help  it;  on  which 
occasion  he  got  into  so  violent  a  passion,  that  I 
was  glad  of  my  previous  forbearance ;  but  as  I 
managed  to  let  him  gammon  me  that  very  game, 
he  soon  recovered  his — what  I  suppose  he  called — 
good-humour. 


300 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Soon  the  sounds  of  the  bugle  were  once  more 
heard  in  the  hall. 

"There  is  half -past  ten,"  cried  Sir  George. 
"Good-night,  Mr.  Pans.  Now  go  to  your  bed- 
room. If  you  want  to  read,  you  will  find  plenty 
of  books,  papers,  magazines,  &c.  in  the  library ; 
and  if  you  wish  to  smoke,  you  may." 

Dressing  -  gowned,  slippered,  cigared,  easy- 
chaired,  paper-knifed,  and  Edinburgh  Reviewed, 
I  was  reposing  after  my  labours,  dangers,  and 
sufferings,  when  there  cam  3  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Who  is  there?" 

"  Orders,  sir." 

"Orders!    What  is  that  1    Come  in." 

A  man-servant  entered  with  a  book  bound  in 
red,  and  having  a  brazen  clasp,  which  he  opened, 
and  pointed  out  to  me  a  particular  page,  from 
which  I  read : — 

Montgomery  Hall, 
"August  31,  18— 

"  Mr.  Pans,  of  Lincolnshire,  gent.,  arrived  here 
this  day  on  a  visit. — The  family  will  assemble  for 
breakfast  to-morrow  morning,  at  8  A.M.,  in  the 
library. — Colonel  Sir  George  Potts  and  Mr.  Pans 
will  go  out  shooting  at  9.30,  lunching  at  Batt's 
Copse  at  1,  and  returning  to  dinner  at  5.30  p.m. — 
Miss  Potts  will  ride  Mabel  at  2  p.m.  to-morrow, 
William  attending  her  on  Merriman. — The  cook 
will  attend  Colonel  Sir  George  Potts  in  his  study 
immediately  after  breakfast. — Lady  Potts's  spaniel. 
Flora,  is  placed  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Pans,  until 
further  orders." 

******** 

"  Fine  morning,"  said  I  to  a  groom,  who  was 
emitting  that  peculiar  sibilation  common  to  stable- 
men, and  which  must  be  so  galling  to  the  horses  at 
Astley's  if  they  partake  of  the  sensibilities  of 
biped  actors. 

"  Tis-s-3-s-s— is-s-s-s-s — tis-s-s-s.  Ees,  Sir,  tis-s- 
s-s." 

"  Leave  off  hissing,  my  lad,  and  listen  to  me  for 
a  moment,  will  you  ]  Your  lady  wants  that  dog 
to  get  well ;  you  know  what  is  the  matter  with 
it." 

"Ees." 

"  Then  you  know  it  only  wants  less  victuals  and 
more  running  about." 

"Ees." 

"  Well,  then,  can  you  keep  your  mouth  shut . 

"  Ees  "  (a  broad  grin). 

"  Then  here  is  half  a  sovereign  for  you." 

"  Thankee,  sir  "  (a  broader). 

"  Don't  you  give  her  anything  to  eat  to-day,  and 
whenever  you  come  into  the  stable,  make  her  move 
about.  I  will  take  her  for  a  walk  now.  Have 
you  got  a  collar  and  a  piece  of  string  1 " 

He  soon  produced  those  articles,  also  a  bit  of 
soap. 

"  A  good  idea,"  said  I ;  and  in  spite  of  the  tears 


and  supplications  of  the  patient,  we  administered 
a  saponaceous  pill. 

"I  saw  you  from  my  window  carrying  Flora 
for  a  walk  this  morning ; — how  kind  of  you  ! " 
said  Lady  Potts,  as  I  entered  the  bi-eakfast-room 
at  two  minutes  before  eight ;  and  her  eyes  were 
more  eloquent  than  her  lips. 

Punctually  at  the  appointed  minute.  Colonel 
Potts,  myself,  a  gamekeeper,  and  four  dogs  started 
off  under  a  blazing  sun  for  the  nearest  stubble- 
field,  which  we  traversed,  I  on  the  right,  Sir 
George  on  the  left,  the  gamekeeper  in  the  rear, 
and  the  dogs  scouring  before  us ;  but  as  there 
were  no  birds,  we  arrived  at  the  other  end  guilt- 
less of  blood.  Directly  we  entered  the  second 
field,  however,  which  was  also  stubble,  a  dog  on 
the  right,  that  is,  immediately  in  front  of  me, 
made  a  dead  point.  Cocking  both  locks,  I  was 
advancing  cautiously,  when  I  heard  hasty  foot- 
steps, a  panting  and  puffing,  and  finally,  words, 
spoken  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"  Stop,  stop, — you  stop  ! "  so  I  stopped,  and  the 
colonel  advanced  in  front  of  me.  It  was  very 
trying,  but  Sarah  must  not  be  lost  for  a  shot.  Up' 
got  the  covey  ;  bang,  bang,  went  Sir  George, 
visibly  a  yard  above  them. 

"  Mark  them,  Thomas  ;  I  am  sure  that  old  one  is- 
hit  hard  ! " 

If  this  was  the  case,  the  "  old  one "  took  his 
punishment  like  a  hero,  for  he  certainly  showed 
no  signs  of  it,  as  he  skimmed  away  with  his  spouse 
and  family. 

"I  always  miss  my  first  shot,"  growled  the 
colonel,  as  he  reloaded. 

The  next  point  was  on  his  beat  fairly  enough. 
Again  the  covey  rose  ;  again  he  blazed  away  with 
both  barrels  harmlessly.  Two  of  the  birds,  how- 
ever, who  were  lazy,  or  greedy,  or  weak  on  the 
wing,  delayed  getting  up  with  the  rest,  from  whom 
they  had  strayed  considerably  to  the  right,, 
and  were  now  frightened  up  by  the  report.  I 
am  only  a  middling  shot ;  but  they  were  so^ 
young,  and  flew  so  slowly,  that  I  knocked  them 
both  over. 

"  What  do  you  fire  at  my  wounded  birds  for  1 " 
screamed  Sir  George,  foaming  with  rage. 

"  Your  wounded  birds,  sir  1 " 

"  Yes,  sir,  my  wounded  birds  !  As  neat  a  shot  as 
ever  I  made  in  my  life — one  to  each  barrel.  You 
could  not  beat  that  yourself,  Thomas— eh?" 

"  It  was  a  fair  shot,  your  honour." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  sir  1  Do  you  hear  what 
the  gamekeeper  says  1  You  are  a  jealous  shot,  sir  ; 
and  I  hate  a  jealous  shot  like  a  blank." 

"But,  Sir  George,"  I  expostulated,  "you  mis- 
take ;  I  thought  the  rest  of  the  covey  were  withia 
range,  and  fired  at  them." 

"  Then  you  own  those  to  be  my  birds  1 " 

"Certainly." 


WHAT   I   WENT   THROUGH   TO   GET   HER. 


301 


"  Oh,  ah,  hum  !     Pick  them  up,  Thomas." 
Thomas  was  very  busy  lacing  one  of  his  boots ; 
when  he  rose,  his  face  was  crimson — from  stoop- 
ing, I  suppose. 

Next  shot  he  had,  the  colonel  really  did  hit  a 
bird,  which  put  him  into  such  good-humour  that 
iie  did   not  claim   the  next  I  bagged  •  and   so 


himself  down  by  the  side  of  a  spring,  which 
bubbled  up  in  the  centre  of  a  nice  shady  dell, 
he  lit  a  cheroot,  and  bade  me  go  on  alone  with 
the  gamekeeper  ;  when  it  was  time  to  go  home,  we 
found  him  in  the  same  place,  fast  asleep. 

So  we  went  on,  the  old  people  liking  me,  and  T 
disliking  them,  more  and  more  every  day  :  Sarah 


V  HAT   DO   YOU    FIRE    AT    MT    WOUNDED    BIRDS    FOE?' 


we  went  on  till  luncheon,  the  birds  being  so  plen- 
tiful, tame,  and  weak  on  the  wing,  that  we  made 
a  pretty  fair  bag — the  colonel  hitting  about  twice 
out  of  every  five  times,  and  I  allowing  him  to 
claim  some  of  my  victims. 

In  the  afternoon,  I  had  better  sport ;  for  the 
coveys  being  now  scattered,  the  shots  became 
more  frequent,  while  the  colonel,  upon  whom  the 
sun  and  bottled  porter  had  taken  effect,  was  less 
ardent  than  he  had  been  in  the  morning.  Indeed, 
at  last  he  declared  himself  "  done  ; "  and  flinging 


growing  more  and  more  beautiful  and  cheerful  as 
cause  for  anxiety  seemed  to  diminish  ;  and  Flora 
rapidly  regaining  health  and  symmetry  under  a 
course  of  biscuit  and  exercise.  Indeed,  at  the  end 
of  a  week,  I  allowed  an  interview  between  dog 
and  mistress ;  and  so  delighted  was  the  lady 
with  the  recovery  of  her  favourite,  that  I  obtained 
that  very  evening  my  first  earnest  of  ultimate 
success. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  before  you  give  the 
orders,"  said  Lady  Potts  to  Sir  George,  when  we 


302 


GLEANINGS  FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


broke  up  for  the  night ;  and  when  the  order-book 
with  the  brazen  clasp  came  round  to  my  bedroom 
door,  I  I'ead  the  following  sentence  : 

"  Mr.  Pans  will  attend  Miss  Sarah  Potts  in  her 
ride  at  2.30  p.m.,  to-morrow." 

Eefore  pheasant-shooting  began,  I  returned  to 


London,  like  a  good  bill,  accepted.  Ere  the  last 
long-tail  had  fallen,  ray  banker's  account  rose  from 
two  figures  to  four,  and  I  was  the  blest  proprietor 
of  the  angelic  being  who  is  now  taking  such  a 
preposterous  time  about  putting  on  her — I  mean 
mi/— honnet. 


MASTER     AND     MAN. 

[By  Thomas  Crofton  Choker.] 


ILLY  MAC  DANIEL  was  once  as 
likely  a  young  man  as  ever  shook 
his  brogue  at  a  pattern,  emptied  a 
quart,  or  handled  a  shillelagh ;  fearing  for 
nothing  but  the  want  of  drink,  caring  for 
nothing  but  who  should  pay  for  it,  and 
thinking  of  nothing  but  how  to  make  fun 
over  it :  drunk  or  sober,  a  word  and  a  blow 
was  ever  the  way  with  Billy  Mac  Daniel ;  and 
a  mighty  easy  way  it  is  of  either  getting  into  or 
ending  a  dispute.  More  is  the  pity  that,  through  the 
means  of  his  thinking,  and  fearing,  and  caring  for 
nothing,  this  same  Billy  Mac  Daniel  fell  into  bad 
company  ;  for  surely  the  (/oo<l  j^eople  (the  fairies) 
are  the  worst  of  aU  company  any  one  could  come 
across. 

It  so  happened  that  Billy  was  going  home  one 
very  clear  frosty  night,  not  long  after  Christmas. 
The  moon  was  round  and  bright :  but  although  it 
was  as  fine  a  night  as  heart  could  wish  for,  he  felt 
pinched  with  the  cold.  "  By  my  word,"  chattered 
Billy,,  "  a  drop  of  good  liquor  would  be  no  bad 
thing  to  keep  a  man's  soul  from  freezing  in  him  ; 
and  I  wish  I  had  a  full  measure  of  the  best." 

"  Never  wish  it  twice,  Billy,"  said  a  little  man  in 
a  three-cornered  hat,  bound  all  about  with  gold 
lace,  and  with  great  silver  buckles  in  his  shoes,  so 
big  that  it  was  a  wonder  how  he  could  carry  them  ; 
and  he  held  out  a  glass  as  big  as  himself,  filled  with 
as  good  liquor  as  ever  eye  looked  on  or  lip  tasted. 

"Success,  my  little  fellow,"  said  BiUy  Mac 
Daniel,  nothing  daunted,  though  well  he  knew  the 
little  man  to  belong  to  the  (/ooif  2^€ople ;  "  here's 
your  health,  any  way,  and  thank  you  kindly,  no 
matter  who  pays  for  the  drink  : "  and  he  took  the 
glass  and  drained  it  to  the  very  bottom  without 
ever  taking  a  second  to  it. 

"  Success,"  said  the  little  man  ;  "  and  you're 
heartily  welcome,  Billy  ;  but  don't  think  to  cheat 
me  as  you  have  done  others  ;  out  with  your  purse 
and  pay  me  like  a  gentleman." 

"  Is  it  I  pay  you  1 "  said  Billy  ;  "  could  I  not  just 
take  you  up  and  put  you  in  my  pocket  as  easily  as 
a  blackberry] " 

"  Billy  Mac  Daniel,"  said  the  little  man,  getting 


very  angry,  "you  shall  be  my  servant  for  seven 
years  and  a  day,  and  that  is  the  way  I  will  be 
paid  ;  so  make  ready  to  follow  me." 

When  Billy  heard  this  he  began  to  be  very  sorry 
for  having  used  such  bold  words  towards  the  little 
man  ;  and  he  felt  himself,  yet  could  not  tell  how, 
obliged  to  follow  the  little  man  the  livelong  night 
about  the  country,  up  and  down,  and  over  hedge 
and  ditch,  and  through  bog  and  brake  without 
any  rest. 

When  morning  began  to  dawn,  the  little  man 
turned  round  to  him  and  said,  "  You  may  now  go 
home,  Billy,  but  on  your  peril  don't  fail  to  meet 
me  in  the  Fort-field  to-night ;  or  if  you  do,  it  may 
be  the  worse  for  you  in  the  long  run.  If  I  find 
you  a  good  servant  you  will  find  me  an  indulgent 
master." 

Home  went  Billy  Mac  Daniel ;  and  though  he 
was  tired  and  wearied  enough,  never  a  wink  of 
sleep  could  he  get  for  thinking  of  the  little  man  : 
and  he  was  afraid  not  to  do  his  bidding,  so  up  he 
got  in  the  evening,  and  away  he  went  to  the  Fort- 
field.  He  was  not  long  there  before  the  little  man 
came  towards  him  and  said,  "  Billy,  I  want  to  go 
a  long  journey  to-night;  so  saddle  one  of  my 
horses,  and  you  may  saddle  another  for  yourself, 
as  you  are  to  go  along  with  me,  and  may  be  tired 
after  your  walk  last  night." 

Billy  thought  this  very  considerate  of  his  master, 
and  thanked  him  accordingly.  "But,"  said  he, 
"  if  I  may  be  so  bold,  sir,  I  would  ask  which  is  the 
way  to  your  stable,  for  never  a  thing  do  I  see  but 
the  Fort  here,  and  the  old  tree  in  the  corner  of  the 
field,  and  the  stream  running  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill,  with  the  bit  of  bog  over  against  us." 

"  Ask  no  questions,  Billy,"  said  the  little  man, 
"  but  go  over  to  that  bit  of  bog  and  bring  me  two 
of  the  strongest  rushes  you  can  find." 

Billy  did  accordingly,  wondering  what  the  little 
man  would  be  at ;  and  he  picked  out  two  of  the 
stoutest  rushes  he  could  find,  with  a  little  bunch 
of  brown  blossoms  stuck  at  the  side  of  each,  and 
brought  them  back  to  his  master. 

"  Get  up,  Billy,"  said  the  little  man,  taking  one 
of  the  rushes  from  him,  and  striding  across  it. 


MASTER   AND   MAN. 


303 


"'  Where  shall  I  get  up,  please  your  honour  1 " 
said  Billy. 

"  Why,  upon  horseback,  like  me,  to  be  sure,"  said 
the  little  man. 

"Is  it  after  making  a  fool  of  me  you'd  be  1 ''  said 
Billy,  "  bidding  me  get  a-horseback  upon  that  bit 
of  a  rush  I  May  be  you  want  to  i)ersuade  me  that 
the  rush  I  pulled  but  a  while  ago  out  of  the  bog 
there  is  a  horse." 

"Up  !  up  !  and  no  words,"  said  the  little  man, 
looking  very  angry,  "  the  best  horse  you  ever  rode 
was  but  a  fool  to  it."  So  Billy,  thinking  all  this 
was  in  joke,  and  fearing  to  vex  his  master, 
straddled  across  the  rush  :  "  Borram  !  Borram  I 
Borram  ! "  cried  the  little  man  three  times  (which 
in  English  means  to  become  great),  and  Billy  did 
the  same  after  him  :  presently  the  rushes  swelled 
up  into  fine  horses,  and  away  they  went  full  speed  ; 
but  Billy,  who  had  put  the  rush  between  his  legs 
without  much  minding  how  he  did  it,  found  him- 
self sitting  on  horseback  the  wrong  way,  which 
was  rather  awkward,  with  his  face  to  the  horse's 
tail ;  and  so  quickly  had  his  steed  started  off  with 
him,  that  he  had  no  power  to  turn  round,  and 
there  was  therefore  nothing  for  it  but  to  hold  on 
by  the  tail. 

At  last  they  came  to  their  journey's  end,  and 
stopped  at  the  gate  of  a  fine  house  :  "  Now,  Billy," 
said  the  little  man,  "do  as  you  see  me  do,  and 
follow  me  close  ;  but  as  you  did  not  know  your 
horse's  head  from  his  tail,  mind  that  your  own 
head  does  not  spin  round  until  you  can't  tell 
whether  you  are  standing  on  it  or  on  your  heels." 

The  little  man  then  said  some  queer  kind  of 
words,  out  of  which  Billy  could  make  no  meaning ; 
but  he  contrived  to  say  them  after  him,  for  all 
that ;  and  in  they  both  went  through  the  keyhole 
of  the  door,  and  through  one  keyhole  after  another, 
until  they  got  into  the  wine-cellar,  which  was 
well  stored  with  all  kinds  of  wine. 

The  little  man  fell  to  drinking  as  hard  as  he 
could,  and  Billy,  nowise  disliking  the  example,  did 
the  same.  "  The  best  of  masters  are  you,  surely," 
said  Billy  to  him,  "  no  matter  who  is  the  next ; 
and  well  pleased  will  I  be  with  your  service,  if  you 
continue  to  give  me  plenty  to  drink." 

"  I  have  made  no  bargain  with  you,"  said  the 
little  man,  "  and  will  make  none ;  but  up  and 
follow  me."  Away  they  went,  through  keyhole 
after  keyhole ;  and  each  mounting  upon  the 
rush  which  he  left  at  the  hall  door,  scampered  off, 
kicking  the  clouds  before  them  like  snowballs,  as 
soon  as  the  words  "  Borram  !  Borram  !  Borram  I " 
had  passed  their  lips. 

When  they  came  back  to  the  Fort-field,  the  little 
man  dismissed  Billy,  bidding  him  to  be  there  the 
next  night  at  the  same  hour.  Thus  did  they  go  on, 
night  after  night,  shaping  their  course  one  night 
here  and  another  night  there,  sometimes  north  and. 


sometimes  east,  and  sometimes  south,  until  there 
was  not  a  gentleman's  wine-cellar  in  all  Ireland 
they  had  not  visited,  and  could  tell  the  flavour  of 
every  wine  in  it  as  well — ay,  better — than  the 
butler  himself. 

One  night  when  Billy  Mac  Daniel  met  the  little 
man  as  usual  in  the  Fort-field,  and  was  going  to  the 
bog  to  fetch  the  horses  for  their  journey, 
his  master  said  to  him,  "Billy,  I  shall  want  another 
horse  to-night,  for  maybe  we  may  bring  back  more 
company  with  us  than  we  take."  So  Billy,  who  now 
knew  better  than  to  question  any  order  given  to 
him  by  his  master,  brought  a  third  rush,  much 
wondering  who  it  might  be  that  would  travel  back 
in  their  company,  and  whether  he  was  about  to 
have  a  fellow  servant.  "  If  I  have,"  thought  Billy, 
"  he  shall  go  and  fetch  the  horses  from  the  bog 
every  night  :  for  I  don't  see  why  I  am  not,  every 
inch  of  me,  as  good  a  gentleman  as  my  master." 

Well,  away  they  went,  Billy  leading  the  third 
horse,  and  never  stopped  until  they  came  to  a  snug 
farmer's  house  in  the  county  of  Limerick,  close 
under  the  old  castle  of  Carrigogunuiel,  that  was 
built,  they  say,  by  the  great  Brian  Boru.  Within 
the  house  there  was  great  carousing  going  forward, 
and  the  little  man  stopped  outside  for  some  time 
to  listen ;  then  turning  round  all  of  a  sudden, 
said,  "  Billy,  I  will  be  a  thousand  years  old  to- 
morrow." 

"  God  bless  us  !  sir,"  said  Billy,  "  will  you  1 " 

"Don't  say  those  words  again,"  said  the  little 
man,  "or  you  will  be  my  ruin  for  ever.  Now, 
Billy,  as  I  will  be  a  thousand  years  in  the  world 
to-morrow,  I  think  it  is  full  time  for  me  to  get 
mai'ried." 

"  I  think  so,  too,  without  any  kind  of  doubt  at 
all,"  said  Billy,  "  if  ever  you  mean  to  marry." 

"And  to  that  purpose,",  said  the  little  man, 
"  have  I  come  all  the  way  to  Carrigogunuiel ;  for 
in  this  house,  this  verj^  night,  is  young  Darby 
Biley  going  to  be  married  to  Bridget  Rooney  ;  and 
as  she  is  a  tall  and  comely  girl,  and  has  come  of 
decent  people,  I  think  of  marrying  her  myself,  and 
taking  her  off  with  me." 

"  And  what  will  Darby  Riley  say  to  that? "  said 
Billy. 

"  Silence  ! "  said  the  little  man,  putting  on  a 
mighty  severe  look.  "  I  did  not  bring  you  here 
with  me  to  ask  questions  ;  "  and  without  holding 
further  argument,  he  began  saying  the  queer  words 
which  had  the  power  of  passing  him  through  the 
keyhole  as  free  as  air,  and  which  Billy  thought 
himself  mighty  clever  to  be  able  to  say  after  him. 

In  they  both  went ;  and  for  the  better  viewing 
the  company,  the  little  man  perched  himself  up 
as  nimbly  as  a  cock-sparrow  upon  one  of  the  big 
beams  which  went  across  the  house  over  all  their 
heads,  and  Billy  did  the  same  upon  another  facing 
him  ;  but  not  being  much  accustomed  to  roosting  in 


304 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


such  a  place,  his  legs  hung  down  as  untidy  as  may 
be,  and  it  was  quite  clear  he  had  not  taken  pattern 
after  the  way  in  which  the  little  man  had  bundled 
himself  up  together.  If  the  little  man  had  been  a 
tailor  all  his  life,  he  could  not  have  sat  more  con- 
tentedly upon  Ms  haunches. 

There  they  were,  both  master  and  man,  looking 
down  upon  the  fun  that  was  going  forward  ;  and 
under  them  were  the  priest  and  piper — and  the 
father  of  Darby  RUey,  with  Darby's  two  brothers 
and  his  uncle's  son — and   there  were  both  the 


that  the  priest  would  have  done  so,  as  he  ought,  if 
he  had  done  his  duty,  no  one  wished  to  take  the 
word  out  of  his  mouth,  which,  unfortunately,  was 
pre-occupied  with  pig's  head  and  greens.  And 
after  a  moment's  pause  the  fun  and  merriment 
of  the  bridal  feast  went  on  without  the  pious  bene- 
diction. 

Of  this  circumstance  both  Billy  and  his  master 
were  no  inattentive  spectators  from  their  exalted 
stations.  "  Ha  ! "  exclaimed  the  little  man,  throw- 
ing one  leg  from  under  him  with  a  joyous  flourish, 


As  UirsxpECTEO  Areival.    {Drawahy  W.  Balston.) 


father  and  the  mother  of  Bridget  Rooney,and  proud 
enough  the  old  couple  were  that  night  of  their 
daughter,  as  good  right  they  had — and  her  four 
sisters,  with  brand-new  ribbons  in  their  caps,  and 
her  three  brothers,  all  looking  as  clean  and  as 
clever  as  any  three  boys  in  Munster — and  there 
were  uncles  and  aunts,  and  gossips  and  cousins 
enough  besides  to  make  a  full  house  of  it — and 
plenty  was  there  to  eat  and  drink  on  the  table  for 
every  one  of  them  if  they  had  been  double  the 
number. 

Now  it  happened,  just  as  Mrs.  Rooney  had 
helped  his  reverence  to  the  first  cut  of  the  pig's 
head  which  w^as  placed  before  her,  beautifully 
bolstered  up  with  white  savoys,  that  the  bride 
gave  a  sneeze  which  made  every  one  at  table  start, 
but  not  a  soul  said,  "  God  bless  us  !  "    All  thinking 


and  his  eye  twinkled  with  a  strange  light,  whilst 
his  eyebrows  become  elevated  into  the  curvature 
of  Gothic  arches—  "  Ha  ! "  said  he,  leering  down  at 
the  bride,  and  then  up  at  Billy,  "  I  have  half  of 
her  now,  surely.  Let  her  sneeze  but  twice  more, 
and  she  is  mine,  in  spite  of  priest,  mass-book,  and 
Darby  Riley." 

Again  the  fair  Bridget  sneezed  ;  but  it  was  so 
gently,  and  she  blushed  so  much,  that  few  except 
the  little  man  took,  or  seemed  to  take,  any  notice ; 
and  no  one  thought  of  saying  "  God  bless  us  ! " 

Billy  all  this  time  regarded  the  poor  girl  with  a 
most  rueful  expression  of  countenance ;  for  he  could 
not  help  thinking  what  a  terrible  thing  it  was  for 
a  nice  young  girl  of  nineteen,  with  large  blue  eyes, 
transparent  skin,  dimpled  cheeks,  suffused  with 
health  and  joy,  to  be  obliged  to  marry  an  ugly 


THE   SHANDON    BELLS. 


305 


little  bit  of  a  man,  who  was  a  thousand  years  old, 
barring  a  day. 

At  this  critical  moment  the  bride  gave  a  third 
sneeze,  and  Billy  roared  out,  with  all  his  might, 
"  God  bless  us  ! "  Whether  this  exclamation 
resulted  from  his  soliloquy,  or  from  the  mere  force 
of  habit,  he  never  could  tell  exactly  himself ;  but 
no  sooner  was  it  uttered  than  the  little  man,  his 
face  glowing  with  rage  and  disappointment,  sprang 
from  the  beam  on  which  he  perched  himself,  and 
shrieking  out  in  the  shrill  voice  of  a  cracked  bag- 
pipe, "  I  discharge  you  from  my  service,  Billy 
Mac  Daniel — take  that  for  your  wages,"  gave  poor 


Billy  a  most  furious  kick  in  the  back,  which  sent 
his  unfortunate  servant  sprawling  upon  his  face 
and  hands  right  in  the  middle  of  the  supper 
table. 

If  Billy  was  astonished,  how  much  more  so  was 
every  one  of  the  company  into  which  he  was 
thrown  with  so  little  ceremony  :  but  when  they 
heard  his  story,  Father  Cooney  laid  down  his 
knife  and  fork,  and  married  the  young  couple  out 
of  hand  with  all  speed  ;  and  Billy  Mac  Daniel 
danced  the  Rinka  at  their  wedding,  and  plenty  did 
he  drink  at  it  too,  which  was  what  he  thought 
more  of  than  dancing. 


THE      SHANDON      BELLS. 

[From  "  The  Eeliques  of  Father  Prout."] 

Satibata  pango 
Juncra  plango 
SolcmntcTi  clango. 

— Inscrip.  on  an  old  Bell. 


Er" 

J 

i 

":1 

fc^*!'"^ 

v= 

h^s^^^ 

■■■fjUijiv 

Sffiii^^^ 

^I^^Mp 

Pir"^ 

~^5 

=^IH 

__H  ;^^ 

^jiiiVV 

^^ 

S- 

^m 

ITH  deep  affection 
And  recollection 
I  often  think  of 
Those      Shandon 
Bells, 
Whose     sound     so 

wild  would 
In  the  days  of  child- 
hood, 
Fling     round     my 
cradle 
Their  magic  spells. 
On  this  I  ponder, 
Where'er  I  wander, 
And  thus  grow  fonder, 
Sweet  Cork,  of  thee  : 
With  thy  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 
Of  the  river  Lee. 

I've  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  many  a  clime  in, 
Tolling  sublime  in 

Cathedral  shrine, 
While  at  a  glibe  rate 
Brass  tongues  would  vibrate — 
But  all  their  music 

Spoke  naught  like  thine ; 
For  memory  dwelling 
On  each  proud  swelling 
Of  the  belfry  knelling 

Its  bold  notes  free, 
Made  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 


The  pleasant  waters 
Of  the  river  Lee. 

I've  heard  bells  tolling 
Old  "  Adrian's  ?kIole  "  in, 
Their  thunder  rolling 

From  the  Vatican, 
And  cymbals  glorious 
Swinging  uproarious 
In  the  gorgeous  turrets 

Of  Notre  Dame  ; 
But  thy  sounds  were  sweeter 
Than  the  dome  of  Peter 
Flings  o'er  the  Tiber, 

Pealing  solemnly ; — 
Oh !  the  bells  of  Shandon 
Sound  far  more  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 

There's  a  bell  in  Moscow, 
While  on  tower  and  kiosko 
In  Saint  Sophia 

The  Turkman  gets. 
And  loud  in  the  air 
Calls  man  to  prayer 
From  the  tapering  summit 

Of  tall  minarets. 
Such  empty  phantom 
I  freely  grant  them ; 
But  there  is  an  anthem 

More  dear  to  me — 
'Tis  the  bells  of  Shandon, 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters 

Of  the  river  Lee. 


2m 


306 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


ONE   STEUGGLE. 

[From  "  The  Black  Speck."    By  F.  W.  Eobinson.J 


I^A^ilES  STRAHA.N  let  himself  in  with 
his  pass-key,  and  strode  into  the  little 
front  parlour,  where  he  found  his  father 
cowering  over  the  fire  as  though  he  were 
very  cold.  Mr.  Strahan  senior  looked 
round  with  a  lack-lustre  air  as  his  son  entered  the 
room,  but  he  betrayed  slowly  some  interest  in 
James,  as  the  change  in  his  son  was  suggested  to 
an  intellect  much  bemuddled  that  evening. 

"  What's  the  matter  1 "  he  said  at  last,  and  in  a 
very  nervous  fashion. 

"What  shoultl  be  the  matter?"  was  the  re- 
joinder, as  James  Strahan  threw  himself  into  an 
easy-chair  by  the  fire  ;  "  did  you  ever  know  any- 
thing the  matter  with  me  ?  " 

"As  regards  health,  no.  Take  you  altogether," 
said  his  father  in  reply,  "  and  you  have  been  an 
exceedingly  robust  man.  I  only  wish  I  liad  one- 
twentieth  part  of  your  robustness.  I  should  not 
be  the  awful  sufierer  I  am.  No  food  agrees  with 
me." 

"And  so  you  drink,"  added  James  Strahan, 
moodily. 

"  I  must  be  kept  up  somehow.  A  little  stimu- 
lant, now  and  then— and  in  moderation,  James 
— seems  to  pull  me  together  wonderfully,"  was  the 
reply. 

"To  pull  you  to  pieces,  I  shcmld  have  said 
yesterday,"  was  the  son's  answer;  "but  perhaps 
you  are  right  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  repeated 
to  himself. 

Mr.  Strahan  gazed  anxiously  at  his  son.  James 
had  been  a  very  different  kind  of  son  to  him 
lately,  had  treated  him  even  respectfully,  and  as  a 
son  should  do,  he  thought,  and  this  was  a  return  to 
the  old  manner,  and  a  something  worse  than  the 
old  manner,  unless  that  ugly  scowl  of  James  stood 
for  nothing  that  particular  evening.  He  had  seen 
a  look  akin  to  that  in  the  sad  and  sulky  days, 
but  never  had  it  been  so  darksome,  or  so  "  pro- 
nounced "  as  now,  and  "  "What's  the  matter  1 "  came 
again  by  way  of  feeble  questioning  from  the  thin 
lips. 

"  The  matter  is,  father,  that  I'm  not  going  to 
marry  Sissie  Eston,"  was  the  frank  confession. 

"  Not  going  to  marry  her,"  repeated  the  father, 
"  well,  well,  perhaps  it's  as  well.  I  am  glad  you 
have  altered  your  mind." 

"  She  has  altered  hers." 

"  Oh  !  indeed." 

"And  that  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  I 
8upiK)se." 

"  Precisely  the  same  thing,  James,"  assented  his 
father,  rubbing  one  hand  over  the  other ;  "  and  all's 


well  that  ends  well.  You  wouldn't  have  made  a 
good  husband — that  is,  what  I  caU  a  nice  sort  of 
husband." 

"  No  ?  Why  not  ? " 

"  You  are  better  as  a  single  man,"  explained  Mr. 
Strahan  senior.  "  You  make,  I  may  say,  quite  a 
charming  single  man — at  times,  and  when  in  an 
amiable  mood,  and  having  it  all  your  own  way,  I 
mean — but  a  married  man  cannot  expect  to  have 
it  all  his  own  way,  and  then  dissensions  arise. 
Now,  when  your  poor  mother  was  alive  I " 

"  That'll  do,"  interrupted  his  son. 

"  Oh  !  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Strahan,  submissive 
at  once,  and  cowed  by  James  Strahan's  brusque- 
ness. 

He  looked  askance  at  his  son,  and  then  directed 
his  attention  to  the  fire  again.  After  a  while  he 
got  up,  coughed  feebly,  and  took  his  hat  from  under 
the  chair. 

"  W^here  are  you  going  1 "    asked  James. 

"  I  have  promised  to  look  up  a  friend  to-night. 
And  there's  the  books  to  balance  again.  And 
there's " 

"  Sit  down.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  for  a  little 
while  longer,"  said  James  Strahan. 

"  Very  well  As  t/ou  please,  James,"  replied 
the  father,  resuming  his  seat,  but  regarding  his 
son  with  an  extra  degree  of  nervousness.  Strange 
as  James  Strahan's  manner  was  that  night,  the 
nervousness  of  James  Strahan's  father  was  still 
more  remarkable.  He  had  turned  of  an  ashen 
grey,  as  if  afraid  of  what  might  follow  next — as  if 
terribly  distrustful  of  his  own  son,  and  of  what 
that  son  might  accuse  him. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  make  a  scene.  I'm 
not  myself  this  evening,"  he  whimpered  ;  "  the  cold 
weather  has  affected  my  chest,  I  think." 

"  Drink  has  affected  you,"  answered  James ; 
"  but  I  am  not  going  to  preach  to  you  about  it  any 
more." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you.  I  am  exceedingly 
obliged  to  you,"  answered  his  father. 

"I  told  you,  I  think,  that  Sissie  and  I  were 
not  going  to  be  married  ? "  said  the  son,  half 
vacantly. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  James — yes.     Just  this  instant ." 

"  Ah ;  I  thought  I  did.  But  I'm  a  little  con- 
fused now,"  and  the  broad,  bony  hand  of  the  over- 
looker  was  passed  across  his  massive  forehead, 
"  and  all  about  a  chit  of  a  girl.  It's  amazing,  even 
to  me." 

"  Did  you  particularly  want  to  tell  me  all  this 
over  again  ] "  inquired  Mr.  Strahan  senior, 
deferentially.  • 


ONE  STRUGGLE. 


307 


"Yes." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you.  And,"  he  added  after  a  pause, 
"  nothing  else  1 " 

"  Yes — a  great  deal  more,  man." 

"  Oh  !  good— what  is  it  1 "  and  Mr.  Strahan's 
teeth  began  to  chatter,  and  his  knees  to  knock 
together. 

"I  have  met  Dinah  to-night." 

"  You  must  not  believe  a  word  she  says  about 
anything  or  anybody.  A  dreadful  woman — a  most 
unreliable  authority  on  any  matter.  Half-mad — 
half -drunk  always,  J^mes,"  cried  the  father,  "  and 
not  to  be  depended  upon.  A  bad  habit  of  borrow- 
ing sixpences,  too.     Shocking  !  " 

James  went  on  with  his  one  theme. 

"  And  she  told  me  the  plain  truth  of  it  all.  It 
was  Victor  she  was  breaking  her  heart  about.  She 
was  in  love  with  him  all  the  time." 

"  Dinah  in  love  with  Victor  1    Gracious !  " 

"  You  idiot,"  shouted  the  unfilial  James.  "  I  am 
talking  about  the  girl  I  was  going  to  marry." 

"  Oh  !  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  the  father ; 
"yes,  you  are  confused.  Your  grammar  is  con- 
fused, too,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  as  much  in 
your  own  house." 

"  So,  when  people  talk,  as  they  will  talk,"  con- 
tinued James,  "say  it  was  all  their  mistake." 

"  What  was  ?  " 

"  Their  mistake  that  I  was  going  to  marry  her 
— it  was  your  younger  son.  The  favourite  son 
— the  lucky  one — the  handsome  one,  whom 
everybody  likes.  Don't  you  see  1 "  c^ied  James 
Strahan. 

"  Yes — yes,  I  think  I  see." 

"  It  was  not  credible  a  gentle,  timid,  pretty  girl, 
like  Sissie,  should  take  to  a  rough  brute  like  me," 
said  James  Strahan.  "  I  was  always  hated  every- 
where.    I  was  hard,  unyielding,  bitter." 

"  A  little  bitter,  perhaps,  and  always  hard,  but 
— is  there  any  occasion  to  mention  this  just 
nowr' 

"  Are  you  thirsty  1 "  was  the  quick  question 
here. 

"Well,  now  you  ask  me,  perhaps  I  am  some- 
what diy." 

"  You  have  drink  in.  that  cupboard  !  You  are 
not  obliged  to  go  out  such  an  awful  night  as  this 
for  it.  It  is  always  handy  at  your  elbow — like  the 
devil ! " 

Mr.  Strahan  senior  coughed  behind  his  hand. 

"  I— I  thought  you  were  kind  enough  to  mention 
that  you  would  not  preach  at  me  to-night,"  he 
said. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  preach.  Get  your  drink  out, 
and  be  happy." 

"  Really?  Really  now]  "  exclaimed  the  astonished 
parent. 

"Yes -really." 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said ;  "  if  you  see 


it  in  that  light,  knowing  what  a  lot  of  support  I 
need  in  my  infirmity  and  trouble " 

"  What  trouble  ha^  you  1 " 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me.  Life's  all  trouble,  James, 
every  bit  of  it." 

"Yes — I  believe  that,"  was  the  answer;  "but 
drink's  good  for  trouble,  eh  1" 

"  Well — one  forgets,  and " 

"  That's  it,"  shouted  his  son  again,  "  one  forgets ! 
That  is  what  I  want  to  do,  for  brooding  on  a 
wrong  makes  a  man  mad.  Get  your  drink  out, 
father." 

"  W/mt!" 

"  Get  your  drink  out,"  he  cried  again,  and  with 
renewed  excitement. 

"  For  you,  James  !  Do  you  mean  for  you  1 " 
gasped  Mr.  Strahan. 

"  Yes." 

"  Bless  my  soul  and  body  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  I 
don't  think — I  don't  see — I  don't  know  why — I 
don't  recommend  it.     I  never  said  I  did,  James." 

And  the  old  man  sat  down  wholly  bewildered, 
and  with  a  strange  look  of  terror  on  his  face.  This 
was  a  new  phase  of  temptation  to  which  he  was 
wholly  unaccustomed,  and  he  did  not  see  the  end 
of  it, — before  him,  only  a  few  steps  away,  and  so 
like  the  beginning  of  a  new  calamity,  of  the  direst 
tragedy  of  life,  that  he  looked  on  amazed  and 
horror-stricken,  as  a  man  might  do  haunted  by  a 
ghost . 

"  You  have  had  trouble,"  said  James  Strahan, 
rising,  and  opening  the  cupboard  door  ;  "  and  you 
have  set  it  all  *side.  This,"  taking  out  the  bottle 
which  he  found  there,  "  has  taught  you  forgetful- 
ness,  set  you  in  a  new  mould,  made  your  heart 
light  in  the  midst  of  other  woes.  And  if  it  has 
made  you  a  wreck — what  of  that  1  And  if  it  has 
shortened  your  days — what  of  that  1  What  is  length 
of  life  to  the  unhappy,  but  a  longer  lease  of  misery  ? 
Sit  down,  and  drink  with  me." 

"  I — I  can't,"  was  the  husky  answer  back. 

"  Ay,  but  you  must,"  cried  the  son.  "  You  are 
my  father,  and  the  son  looks  to  the  father  for  his 
example.  And  the  father's  life  is  the  example 
always,  he  being  the  God  on  earth  to  his  children. 
Do  you  see  that.^" 

James  Strahan  struck  the  table  with  his  hand, 
and  the  old  man  screamed  with  affright.  This  was 
a  madman  surely — not  his  son  at  all  Why  did  he 
talk  and  rave  in  this  manner  ? 

"Therefore,  your  good  health,  old  gentleman,' 
said  James. 

He  poured  out  the  liquid  from  the  bottle,  but 
with  a  hand  that  shook  like  his  weak  father's  ;  he 
filled  the  glass  and  raised  it  to  his  lips  ;  he  would 
have  drunk  the  contents  in  his  recklessness,  in  his 
defiance  of  his  better  self,  had  the  glass  not  been 
knocked  suddenly  from  his  hand,  and  it  had 
become  his  turn  to  be  surprised  and  alarmed.    It 


308 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


was  his  father  who  had  rushed  at  him,  and  dashed 
the  glass  from  him,  cutting  his  shrivelled  hands 
badly  with  the  sudden  action ;  it  was  old  James 
Strahan  clinging  round  him,  sobbing  and  implor- 
ing ;  it  was  the  father,  grief-stricken  and  drink- 
shattered,  who  was  kneeling  at  his  feet,  and  clasp- 
ing his  strong  limbs  with  shaking  arms. 

"  Oh,  don't  drink  !  "  he  cried.  "  Oh,  don't  you 
drink,  Jamie,  for  the  good  God's  sake — not  you  ! " 

"  AVhat's  this  1 — what's  this  1 "  asked  James 
Strahan. 

"  Not  my  one  brave  son — not  you,  to  come 
down  to  such  a  life  as  mine,  and  to  such  a  thing 
as  I  am,"  shrieked  the  father.  "  Oh,  no,  no,  no, 
not  you  ! " 

James  Strahan  was  appalled;  he  had  not  ex- 
pected this.  From  the  lips  of  this  poor  old 
drunkard  to  issue  forth  the  homily  which  struck 
home  and  daunted  him,  was  in  itself  a  miracle. 

"  You  must  not  touch  it,  Jamie,"  the  father  im- 
plored. "  It  is  only  you  we  have  to  look  to,  when 
the  troubles  come.    You  have  been  so  clever  and 


strong,  and  we  have  been  so  weak.  Don't  go,  like 
us  poor  wretches,  all  adrift.  Keep  up — keep 
always  like  yourself.  Oh,  don't  give  way — don't 
drink  !  see  what  I  have  come  to  ! " 

The  crisis  was  past.  The  temptation  to  forget 
— it  had  never  been  to  drink — was  over,  and  James 
Strahan  was  sobered  for  all  time.  In  the  great 
grief  of  his  father,  in  his  strange  remorse,  he  saw 
that  Ufe's  duties  had  not  closed  for  him,  and  that 
there  was  the  good  work  to  his  hand,  and  for  the 
good  cause.  No,  he  would  not  break  down  be- 
cause his  pride  had  been  hurt,  and  a  woman  had 
turned  from  him ;  he  was  a  better  man  already ,^ 
and  the  weak  being  grovelling  at  his  feet  in 
despair  had  been  the  agent  to  lead  him  back  to 
liimself. 

He  raised  his  father  with  strange  tenderness,  and 
led  him  back  to  his  seat,  where  the  old  man  sat 
shuddering  violently  until  the  son's  hand  rested 
on  the  thin  grey  hairs. 

"  It  is  all  over,"  he  said,  in  his  father's  ears,  "  I 
i  shall  never  drink  now."  • 


GIL  BLA.S'  ADVENTURES  AT  PENNAFLOR. 

[By  Alain  R£n6  Le  Saoe.] 


AERn'ED  in  safety  at  Pennaflor  ;  and 
halting  at  the  gate  of  an  inn  that  made 
a  tolerable  appearance,  I  had  no  sooner 
alighted  than  the  landlord  came  out  and 
received  me  with  great  civiHty  ;  he  untied 
my  portmanteau  with  his  own  hands,  and,  throwing 
it  on  his  shoulders,  conducted  me  into  a  room, 
while  one  of  his  servants  led  my  mule  into  the 
stable.  This  innkeeper,  the  greatest  talker  of  the 
Asturias,  and  as  ready  to  relate  his  own  affairs, 
without  being  asked,  as  to  pry  into  those  of  another, 
told  me  that  his  name  was  Andrew  Corcuelo  ;  that 
he  had  served  many  years  in  the  army,  in  quality  of 
a  Serjeant,  and  had  quitted  the  service  fifteen 
months  ago  to  marry  a  damsel  of  Castropol,  who, 
though  she  was  a  little  swarthy,  knew  very  well 
how  to  turn  the  penny. 

He  said  a  thousand  other  things  which  I  could 
have  dispensed  with  the  hearing"  of ;  but,  after 
having  made  me  his  confidant,  he  thought  he  had 
a  right  to  exact  the  same  condescension  from  me  ; 
and,  accordingly,  he  asked  me  from  whence  I 
came,  whither  I  was  going,  and  what  I  was.  I  was 
obliged  to  answer  article  by  article,  because  he 
accompanied  every  question  with  a  profound  bow, 
and  begging  me  to  excuse  his  curiosity  with  such 
a  respectful  air  that  I  could  not  refuse  to  satisfy 
him  in  every  particular.  This  engaged  me  in  a 
long  conversation  with  him,  and  gave  me  occasion 


to  mention  my  design,  and  the  reason  I  had  for 
disposing  of  my  mule,  that  I  might  take  the 
opportunity  of  a  carrier.  He  approved  of  my  in- 
tention, though  not  in  a  very  succinct  manner,  for 
he  represented  all  the  troublesome  accidents  that 
might  befall  me  on  the  road,  recounted  many 
dismal  stories  of  travellers,  and  I  was  afraid  would 
never  have  done  ;  he  concluded  at  length,  how- 
ever, telling  me  that  if  I  had  a  mind  to  sell  my 
mule,  he  was  acquainted  with  a  very  honest  jockey 
who  would  buy  her.  I  assured  him  he  would 
oblige  me  by  sending  for  him,  upon  which  he  went 
in  -^uest  of  him  with  great  eagerness. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  returned  with  his  man, 
whom  he  introduced  to  me  as  a  person  of  exceed- 
ing honesty ;  and  we  went  into  the  yard  all  to- 
gether. 

There  my  mule  was  produced,  and  passed  and 
re-passed  before  the  jockey,  who  examined  her 
from  head  to  foot,  and  did  not  fail  to  speak  very 
disadvantageous! y  of  her.  I  own  there  was  not 
much  to  be  said  in  her  praise  ;  but,  however,  had 
it  been  the  Pope's  mule  he  would  have  found 
some  defects  in  her.  He  assured  me  she  had  all 
the  faults  a  mule  could  have,  and,  to  convince  me 
of  his  veracity,  appealed  to  the  landlord,  who, 
doubtless,  had  his  reasons  for  supporting  his 
friend's  assertions. 

"  Well,"  said  this  dealer,  with  an  air  of  indiffer- 


GIL   BLAS'   ADVENTURES   AT   PENNAFLOR. 


309 


ence,  "  how  much  money  do  you  expect  for  this 
wretched  animal  1 " 

After  the  eulogium  he  had  bestowed  on  her,  and 
the  attestation  of  Signor  Corcuehi,  whom  I  be- 
lieved to  be  a  man  of  honesty  and  understanding, 
I  would  have  given  my  mule  for  nothing,  and, 
therefore,  told  him  I  would  rely  on  his  integrity, 


who  was  to  set  out  next  day  for  Astorga.  When 
everything  was  settled  between  us,  I  returned  to 
the  inn  with  Corcuelo,  who,  by  the  way,  began  to 
recount  the  carrier's  history.  He  told  me  every 
circumstance  of  his  character  in  town ;  and,  in 
short,  was  going  to  stupefy  me  again  with  his  in- 
tolerable loquacity,  when  a  man  of   pretty  good 


'  He  proceeded  on  this  with  the  same  vioour."     {Drawn  bj  W.  Sm'dl. 


bidding  him  appraise  the  beast  in  his  own  con-  I 
science,  and  I  would  stand  to  the  valuation.  Upon 
this  he  assumed  the  man  of  honour,  and  replied 
that,  in  engaging  his  conscience,  I  took  him  on 
the  weak  side.  In  good  sooth,  that  did  not  seem 
to  be  his  strong  side  ;  for,  instead  of  valuing  her 
at  ten  or  twelve  pistoles,  as  my  uncle  had  done, 
he  fixed  the  price  at  three  ducats,  which  I  accepted 
with  as  much  joy  as  if  I  had  made  an  excellent 
bargain. 

After  having  so  advantageously  disposed  of  my 
mule,  the  landlord  conducted  me  to  a  carrier. 


appearance  prevented  that  misfortune,  by  accosting 
him  with  great  civility.  I  left  them  together,  and 
went  on,  without  suspecting  that  I  had  the  least 
concern  in  their  conversation. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  inn,  I  called  for  supper, 
and,  it  being  a  meagre  day,  was  fain  to  put  up 
with  eggs.  While  they  were  getting  ready,  I 
made  up  to  my  landlady,  whom  I  had  not  seen 
before.  She  appeared  handsome  enough,  and 
withal  so  sprightly  and  gay,  that  I  should  have 
concluded  (even  if  her  husband  had  not  told  me 
f  o)  that  her  house  was  pretty  well  frequented. 


310 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


When  the  omelet  I  had  bespoken  was  ready,  I  sat 
down  to  table  by  myself ;  but  had  not  swallowed 
the  first  moi-sel  when  the  landlord  came  in,  fol- 
lowed by  the  man  who  had  stopped  him  in  the 
street  This  cavalier,  who  wore  a  long  sword,  and 
seemed  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age,  advanced 
towards  me  with  an  eager  aii',  saying — 

"  Mr,  Student,  I  am  informed  that  you  are  that 
Signor  Gil  Bias  of  Santillane,  who  is  the  flambeau 
of  philosophy  and  ornament  of  Oviedo  !  Is  it 
possible  that  you  are  that  mirror  of  learning,  that 
sublime  genius,  whose  reputation  is  so  great  in 
this  country]  You  know  not,"  continued  he 
(addressing  liimself  to  the  innkeeper  and  his 
wife),  "you  know  not  what  you  possess  !  You 
have  a  treasure  in  yoiu-  house  !  Behold,  in  this 
young  gentleman,  the  eighth  wonder  of  the 
world  ! "  Then,  turning  to  me,  and  throwing  his 
arms  about  my  neck,  "Forgive,"  cried  he,  "my 
transports.  I  cannot  contain  the  joy  your  pre- 
sence creates." 

I  could  not  answer  for  some  time,  because  he 
locked  me  so  close  in  his  arms  that  I  was  almost 
suffocated  for  want  of  breath  ;  and  it  was  not  till 
I  had  disengaged  my  head  from  his  embrace  that 
I  replied — 

"  Signor  Cavalier,  I  did  not  think  my  name  was 
known  at  Pennaflor." 

"  Not  known  1 "  replied  he,  in  his  former  strain. 
"  We  keep  a  register  of  all  the  celebrated  names 
within  twenty  leagues  of  us.  You,  in  particular, 
are  looked  upon  as  a  prodigy,  and  I  don't  at  all 
doubt  that  Spain  will  one  day  be  as  proud  of  you 
as  Greece  was  of  the  Seven  Sages." 

These  words  were  followed  by  a  fresh  hug, 
which  I  was  forced  to  endure,  though  at  the  risk 
of  strangulation.  With  the  little  experience  I 
had,  I  ought  not  to  have  been  the  dupe  of  his 
professions  and  hyperbolical  compliments.  I  ought 
to  have  known,  by  his  extravagant  flattery,  that 
he  was  one  of  those  parasites  who  abound  in  every 
town,  and  who,  when  a  stranger  arrives,  introduce 
themselves  to  him,  in  order  to  fill  their  bellies  at 
his  expense.  But  my  youth  and  vanity  made  me 
judge  quite  otherwise  ;  my  admirer  appeared  to 
me  so  much  of  a  gentleman  that  I  invited  him  to 
take  a  share  of  my  supper. 

" Ah,  with  all  my  heart,"  cried  he ;  "I  am  too 
much  obliged  to  my  kind  stars  for  having  thrown 
me  in  the  way  of  the  illustrious  Gil  Bias,  not  to 
enjoy  my  good  fortune  as  long  as  I  can.  I  own  I 
have  no  great  appetite,"  pursued  he  ;  "  but  I  will 
sit  down  to  bear  you  company,  and  eat  a  mouthful 
purely  out  of  complaisance." 

So  saying,  my  panegyrist  took  his  place  right 
over  against  me,  and,  a  cover  being  laid  for  him, 
attacked  the  omelet  as  voraciously  as  if  he  had 


fasted  three  whole  days.  By  his  complaisant 
beginning  I  foresaw  that  one  dish  would  not  last 
long,  and  therefore  ordered  a  second,  which  they 
dressed  with  such  despatch  that  it  was  served  up 
just  as  we — or  rather  he — had  made  an  end  of  the 
first.  He  proceeded  on  this  with  the  sanie  vigour, 
and  found  means,  without  losing  one  stroke  of  his 
teeth,  to  overwhelm  me  with  praises  during  the 
whole  repast,  which  made  me  very  well  pleased 
with  my  sweet  self.  He  drank  in  proportion  to 
his  eating  ;  sometimes  to  my  health,  sometimes  to 
that  of  my  father  and  mother,  Avhose  happiness  in 
having  such  a  son  as  I  he  could  not  enough 
admire.  In  the  meantime,  he  plied  me  with  wine, 
and  insisted  upon  my  doing  him  justice,  while  I 
toasted  health  for  health — a  circumstance  which, 
together  Avitli  his  intoxicating  flattery,  put  me 
into  such  good  humour  that,  seeing  our  second 
omelet  half  devoured,  I  asked  the  landlord  if  he 
had  no  fish  in  the  house.  Signor  Corcuelo,  who, 
in  all  likelihood,  had  a  fellow-feeling  with  the 
parasite,  replied,  "I  have  a  delicate  trout,  but 
those  who  eat  it  must  pay  for  the  sauce  :  'tis  a 
bit  too  dainty  for  your  palate,  I  doubt." 

"What  do  you  call  too  dainty?"  said  the 
sycophant,  raising  his  voice.  "You're  a  wise- 
acre indeed  !  Know  that  there  is  nothing  in 
this  house  too  good  for  Signor  Gil  Bias  de 
Santillane,  who  deserves  to  be  entertained  like  a 
prince." 

I  was  pleased  at  his  laying  hold  of  the  landlord's 
last  words,  in  which  he  prevented  me,  and,  feeling 
myself  offended,  said,  with  an  air  of  disdain,  "  Pro- 
duce this  trout  of  yours,  Gaffer  Corcuelo,  and  give 
yourself  no  trouble  about  the  consequence."  This 
was  what  the  innkeeper  wanted  :  he  got  it  ready, 
and  served  it  up  in  a  trice.  At  sight  of  this  new 
dish  I  could  perceive  the  parasite's  eyes  sparkle 
with  joy,  and  he  renewed  that  complaisance — I 
mean  for  the  fish — which  he  had  already  shown 
for  the  eggs.  At  last,  however,  he  was  obliged  to 
give  out,  for  fear  of  accident,  being  crammed  to 
the  very  throat  Having,  therefore,  eaten  and 
drunk  enough,  he  thought  proper  to  conclude  the 
farce  by  rising  from  table  and  accosting  me  in 
these  words  : 

"  Signor  Gil  Bias,  I  am  too  well  satisfied  with 
your  good  cheer  to  leave  you  without  offering  you 
an  important  advice,  which  you  seem  to  have  great 
occasion  for.  Henceforth  beware  of  flatteiy,  and 
be  upon  your  guard  against  everybody  you  do  not 
know.  You  may  meet  with  other  people  inclined 
to  divert  themselves  with  your  credulity,  and  per 
haps  to  push  things  still  farther;  but  don't  be 
duped  again,  nor  believe  yourself,  though  they 
should  swear  it,  the  Eighth  Wonder  of  the 
World." 


A    FATAL   ATTACHMENT. 


311 


^If  FTER  my  papa's  death,  as  lie  left  me 


A    FATAL    ATTACHMENT. 

[By  W.  M.  Thackeray.] 


Jm®  Wf   no  money,  and  only  a  little  land,  I  put 

pT^sraS  my  estate  into  an  auctioneer's   hands, 

^J '  and   determined   to    amuse  my  solitude 

'J^      with  a  trip  to  some  of  our  fashionable 

iZ        watering-places.     My  house  was  now  a 

-'  desert  to  me.     I  need  not   say  how  the 

departure  of  my  dear  parent,  and  her  children,  left 

me  sad  and  lonely. 

Well,  I  had  a  little  ready  money,  and,  for  the 
estate,  expected  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds.  I 
had  a  good  military-looking  person  ;  for  though  I 
had  absolutely  cut  the  old  North- Bungays  (indeed, 
after  my  affair  with  Waters,  Colonel  Craw  hinted 
to  me,  in  the  most  friendly  manner,  that  I  had 
better  resign),  though  I  had  left  the  army,  I  still 
retained  the  rank  of  Captain  :  knowing  the 
advantages  attendant  upon  that  title,  in  a  water- 
ing-place tour. 

Captain  Stubbs  became  a  great  dandy  at  Chel- 
tenham, Harrogate,  Bath,  Leamington,  and  other 
places.  I  was  a  good  whist  and  billiard  player ; 
so  much  so,  that  in  many  of  these  towns  the 
people  used  to  refuse,  at  last,  to  play  with  me, 
knowing  how  far  I  was  their  superior.  Fancy  my 
surprise,  about  five  years  after  the  Portsmouth 
affair,  when  strolling  one  day  up  the  High  Street, 
in  Leamington,  my  eyes  lighted  upon  a  young 
man,  whom  I  remembered  in  a  certain  butcher's 
yard,  and  elsewhere  —  no  other,  in  fact,  than 
Dobble.  He,  too,  was  dressed  e7i  militaire,  with  a 
frogged  coat  and  spurs  ;  and  was  walking  with  a 
showy-looking,  Jewish-faced,  black-haired  lady, 
glittering  with  chains  and  rings,  with  a  green 
bonnet,  and  a  bird  of  Paradise — a  lilac  shawl,  a 
yellow  gown,  pink  silk  stockings,  and  light  blue 
shoes.  Three  children,  and  a  handsome  footman, 
were  walking  behind  her,  and  the  party,  not  seeing 
me,  entered  the  Royal  Hotel  together. 

I  was  known,  myself,  at  the  Royal,  and  calling 
one  of  the  waiters,  learned  the  names  of  the  lady 
and  gentleman.  He  was  Captain  Dobble,  the  son 
of  the  rich  army  clothier,  Dobble  (Dobble,  Hobble, 
and  Co.,  of  Pall  Mall) ;  the  lady  was  a  Mrs. 
Manasseh,  widow  of  an  American  Jew,  living 
quietly  at  Leamington  with  her  children,  but 
possessed  of  an  immense  property.  There's  no 
use  to  give  one's  self  out  to  be  an  absolute  pauper, 
so  the  fact  is,  that  I  myself  went  eveiywhere  with 
the  character  of  a  man  of  very  large  means.  My 
father  had  died,  leaving  me  immense  sums  of 
money,  and  landed  estates— ah  !  I  was  the  gen- 
tleman then,  the  real  gentleman,  and  everybody 
was  too  happy  to  have  me  at  table. 


Well,  I  came  the  next  day,  and  left  a  card  for 
Dobble,  with  a  note  :  he  neither  returned  my  visit, 
nor  answered  my  note.  The  day  alter,  however,  I 
met  him  with  the  widow,  as  before ;  and,  going  up 
to  him,  very  kindly  seized  him  by  the  hand,  and 
swore  I  was — as  really  was  the  case — charmed  to 
see  him.  Dobble  hung  back,  to  my  surprise,  and 
I  do  believe  the  creature  would  have  cut  me,  if  he 
dared  ;  but  I  gave  him  a  frown,  and  said — 

"  What,  Dobble,  my  boy,  don't  you  recollect  old 
Stubbs,  and  our  adventure  with  the  butcher's 
daughters,  ha  ] " 

Dobble  gave  me  a  sickly  kind  of  grin,  and  said, 
"  Oh  !  ah  !  yes  !  It  is — yes  !  it  is,  I  believe,  Cap- 
tain Stubbs." 

"  An  old  comrade,  madam,  of  Captain  Dobble's, 
and  one  who  has  heard  so  much,  and  seen  so  much, 
of  your  ladyship,  that  he  must  take  the  liberty  of 
begging  his  friend  to  introduce  him." 

Dobble  was  obliged  to  take  the  hint  !  and  Cap- 
tain Stubbs  was  duly  presented  to  Mrs.  Manasseh ; 
the  lady  was  as  gracious  as  possible  :  and  when,  at 
the  end  of  the  walk,  we  parted,  she  said,  "she 
hoped  Captain  Dobble  would  bring  me  to  her 
apartments  that  evening,  where  she  expected  a 
few  friends."  Everybody,  you  see,  knows  every- 
body at  Leamington ;  and  I,  for  my  part,  was  well 
known  as  a  retired  officer  of  the  army  ;  who,  on 
his  father's  death,  had  come  into  seven  thousand  a 
year.  Dobble's  arrival  had  been  subsequent  to 
mine,  but  putting  up,  as  he  did,  at  the  Royal 
Hotel,  and  dining  at  the  ordinary  there  with  the 
widow,  he  had  made  her  acquaintance  before  I 
had.  I  saw,  however,  that  if  I  allowed  him  to 
talk  about  me,  as  he  could,  I  should  be  compelled 
to  give  up  all  my  hopes  and  pleasures  at  Leaming- 
ton ;  and  so  I  determined  to  be  short  vnth.  him. 
As  soon  as  the  lady  had  gone  into  the  hotel,  my 
friend  Dobble  was  for  leaving  me  likewise  ;  but  I 
stopped  him,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Dobble,  I  saw  what 
you  meant  just  now  :  you  wanted  to  cut  me, 
because,  forsooth,  I  did  not  choose  to  fight  a  duel 
at  Portsmouth  ;  now,  look  you,  Dobble,  I  am  no 
hero,  but  I'm  not  such  a  coward  as  you — and 
you  know  it.  You  are  a  very  different  man  to 
deal  with  from  Waters  ;  and  /  will  fight  this 
time." 

Not,  perhaps,  that  I  would  :  but  after  the  busi- 
ness of  the  butcher,  I  knew  Dobble  to  be  as  great 
a  coward  as  ever  lived  :  and  there  never  was  any 
harm  in  threatening,  for  you  know  you  are  not 
obliged  to  stick  to  it  afterwards.  My  words  had 
their  effect  upon  Dobble,  who  stuttered,  and 
looked  red,  and  then  declared  he  never  had  the 


312 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


slightest  intention  of  passing  me  by  ;  so  we  be- 
came friends,  and  his  mouth  was  stopped. 

He  was  very  thick  with  the  widow  :  but  that 
lady  had  a  very  capacious  heart,  and  there  were  a 
number  of  other  gentlemen  who  seemed  equally 
smitten  with  her.  "  Look  at  that  ^Irs.  Manasseh," 
said  a  gentleman  (it  was  droll,  he  was  a  Jew,  too), 
sitting  at  dinner  by  me  :  "  she  is  old  and  ugly,  and 
yet  because  she  has  money,  all  the  men  are  fling- 
ing themselves  at  her." 

"  She  has  money,  has  she  1 " 

"  Eighty  thousand  pounds,  and  twenty  thousand 
for  each  of  her  children.  I  know  it  for  afact,'^ 
said  the  strange  gentleman.     "  I  am  in  the  law, 


frightened,  and  fairly  quitted  the  field.  Ha  !  ha  ! 
I'm  dashed  if  I  did  not  make  him  believe  that 
Mrs.  Manasseh  had  inurdeved  her  last  husband. 

I  played  my  game  so  well,  thanks  to  the  infor- 
mation that  my  friend  the  lawyer  had  given  me, 
that,  in  a  month,  I  had  got  the  widow  to  show  a 
most  decided  partiality  for  me.  I  sat  by  her  at 
dinner  ;  I  drank  with  her  at  the  Wells ;  I  rode 
with  her ;  I  danced  with  her ;  and  at  a  picnic  to 
Kenilworth,  where  we  drank  a  good  deal  of  cham- 
pagne, I  actually  popped  the  question,  and  was 
accepted.  In  another  month,  Robert  Stubbs,  Esq., 
led  to  the  altar  Leah,  widow  of  the  late  Z. 
Manasseh,  Esq.,  of  St.  Kitts! 


'  Three  children  asd  a  handsome  rooxiiAN  weke  walking  behind  hek."     (Drawn  by  W.  Balston.) 


and  we,  of  our  faith,  you  know,  know  pretty  well 
what  the  great  families  amongst  us  are  worth." 

"  Who  was  Mr.  Manasseh  1 " 

"A  man  of  enormous  wealth — a  tobacco-merchant 
— ^West  Indies  ;  a  fellow  of  no  birth,  however  ;  and 
who,  between  ourselves,  married  a  woman  that  is 
not  much  better  than  she  should  be.  My  dear  sir," 
whispered  he,  "  she  is  always  in  love.  Now  it  is 
with  that  Captain  Dobble  :  last  week  it  was  some- 
body else;  and  it  may  be  you  next  week,  if — 
ha!  ha!  ha! — you  are  disposed  to  enter  the  lists." 

"  I  wouldn't,  for  my  part,  have  the  woman  with 
twice  her  money," 

What  did  it  matter  to  me,  whether  the  woman 
was  good  or  not,  provided  she  was  rich  !  My 
course  was  quite  clear.  I  told  Dobble  all  that  this 
gentleman  had  informed  me,  and  being  a  pretty 
good  hand  at  making  a  story,  I  made  the  widow 
appear  so  bad,  that  the  poor  fellow  was   quite 


We  drove  up  to  London  in  her  comfortable 
chariot ;  the  children  and  servants  following  in  a 
post-chaise.  I  paid,  of  course,  for  everything; 
and  until  our  house  in  Berkeley  Square  was 
painted,  we  stopped  at  Steven's  Hotel. 

My  own  estate  had  been  sold,  and  the  money 
was  lying  at  a  bank,  in  the  city.  About  three  days 
after  our  arrival,  as  we  took  our  breakfast  in  the 
hotel,  previous  to  a  visit  to  Mrs.  Stubbs's  banker, 
where  certain  little  transfers  were  to  be  made,  a 
gentleman  was  introduced,  who,  I  saw  at  a  glance, 
was  of  my  wife's  persuasion. 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Stubbs,  and  made  a  bow. 
"  Perhaps  it  will  be  convenient  to  you  to  pay  this 
little  bill,  one  hundred  and  fifty-two  poundsh  1 " 

"  My  love,"  says  she,  "  will  you  pay  this  1  It  is  a 
trifle  which  I  had  really  forgotten."  "  My  soul !" 
said  I, "  I  have  really  not  the  money  in  the  house." 


A   FATAL   ATTACHMENT. 


313 


"  Vel,  denn,  Captain  Shtubbsh,"  says  he,  "I  must 
do  my  duty — and  arrest  you— here  is  the  writ  ! 
Tom,  keep  the  door  ! "  My  wife  fainted  —  the 
children  screamed,  and  I — fancy  my  condition,  as 
I  was  obliged  to  march  off  to  a  sponging  house, 
along  with  a  horrid  sheriff's  officer. 

I  shall  not  describe  my  feelings  when  I  found 
myself  in  a  cage  in  Cursitor  Street,  instead  of  that 
fine  house  in  Berkeley  Square,  which  was  to  have 
been  mine  as  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Manasseh. 
What  a  palace ! — in  an  odious,  dismal  street,  lead- 
ing from  Chancery  Lane — a  hideous  Jew  boy 
opened  the  second  of  three  doors]  and  shut  it 


bankers.  But  was  the  loss  of  her  £80,000  nothing? 
Was  the  destruction  of  my  hopes  nothing  1 — The 
accursed  addition  to  my  family  of  a  Jewish  wife 
and  three  Jewish  children,  nothing]  And  all  these 
I  was  to  support  out  of  my  two  thousand  pounds. 
I  had  better  have  stopped  at  home,  with  my 
mamma  and  sisters,  whom  I  really  did  love,  and 
who  produced  me  eighty  pounds  a  year. 

I  had  a  furious  interview  with  Mrs.  Stubbs  : 
and  when  I  charged  her,  the  base  wretch  !  with 
cheating  me,  like  a  brazen  serpent,  as  she  was,  she 
flung  back  the  cheat  in  my  teeth,  and  swore  I  had 
swindled  her.     Why  did  I  marry  her,  Avhen  she 


"  Here  is  the  writ."     (Drau-ji  hj  W.  Raldon.) 


when  !Mr.  Nabb  and  I  (almost  fainting)  had 
entered  :  then  he  opened  the  third  door,  and  then 
I  was  introduced  to  a  filthy  place,  called  a  coffee- 
room,  which  I  exchanged  for  the  solitary  comfort 
of  a  little  dingy  back-parlour  where  I  was  left  for 
a  while  to  brood  over  my  miserable  fate.  Fancy 
the  change  between  this  and  Berkeley  Square  I 
Was  I,  after  all  my  pains,  and  cleverness,  and  per- 
severance, cheated  at  last  1  Had  this  Mrs. 
Manasseh  been  imposing  upon  me,  and  were  the 
words  of  the  Avretch  I  met  at  the  table  dliote  at 
Leamington  only  meant  to  mislead  me  and  take 
me  in  1  I  determined  to  send  for  my  wife,  and 
know  the  whole  truth.  I  saw  at  once  that  I  had 
been  the  victim  of  an  infernal  plot,  and  that  the 
carriage,  the  house  in  town,  the  West  India  for- 
tune, Avere  only  so  many  lies  which  I  had  blindly 
believed.  It  was  true  the  debt  was  but  a  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  :  and  I  had  two  thousand  at  my 
2n 


might  have  had  twenty  others  ?  She  only  took 
me,  she  said,  because  I  had  twenty  thousand 
pounds.  I  had  said  I  possessed  that  sum  ;  but  in 
love,  you  know,  and  war,  all's  fair. 

We  parted  quite  as  angrily  as  we  met ;  and  I 
cordially  vowed  that  when  I  had  paid  the  debt 
into  which  I  had  been  swindled  by  her,  I  would 
take  my  £2,000,  and  depart  to  some  desert  isJand  ; 
or,  at  the  very  least,  to  America,  and  never  sbo  her 
more,  or  any  of  her  Israelitish  brood.  There  was 
no  use  in  remaining  in  the  sponging-house  (for  I 
knew  that  there  were  such  things  as  detainers, 
and  that  where  Mrs.  Stubbs  owed  a  hundred 
pounds,  she  might  owe  a  thousand),  so  I  sent  for 
Mr.  Nabb,  and  tendering  him  a  cheque  for  £150, 
and  his  costs,  requested  to  be  let  out  forthwith. 
"  Here,  fellow,"  said  I,  "  is  a  cheque  on  Child  s 
for  your  paltry  sum." 

"It  may  be  a  shech  on  Sbild's,"  sayc  ]Mr.  Nabb, 


314 


GLEANINGS   FROM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"*  but  I  should  be  a  baby  to  let  you  out  on  such  a 
paper  as  that." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  Child's  is  but  a  step  from  this ; 
you  may  go  and  get  the  cash — just  giving  me  an 
acknowledgment." 

Nabb  drew  out  the  acknowledgment  with  great 
punctuality,  and  set  off  for  the  bankers',  whilst  I 
prepared  myself  for  departure  from  this  abomin- 
able prison. 

He  smiled  as  he  came  in.  "  Well,"  said  I,  "  you 
have  touched  your  money ;  and  now,  I  must  tell 
you,  that  you  are  the  most  infernal  rogue  and 
extortioner  I  ever  met  with." 

"  O  no,  Mishter  Shtubbsh,"  says  he,  grinning 
still,  "dere  is  som  greater  roag  dan  me — mosli 
greater." 

"  Fellow,"  says  I,  "  don't  stand  grinning  before  a 
gentleman ;  but  give  me  my  hat  and  cloak,  and 
let  me  leave  your  filthy  den." 

"Shtop,  Shtubbsh,'"  says  he,  not  even  Mistering 
me  this  time,  "here  ish  a  letter,  vich  you  had 
better  read." 

I  opened  the  letter;  something  fell  to  the 
ground  :  it  was  my  cheque. 

The  letter  ran  thus  :  "  Messrs.  Child  and  Co. 
present  their  compliments  to  Captain  Stubbs,  and 
regret  that  they  have  been  obliged  to  refuse 
payment  of  the  enclosed,  having  been  served 
this  day  with  an  attachment  by  Messrs.  Solo- 
monson  and  Co.,  which  compels  them  to  retain 
Captain  Stubbs's  balance  of  £2,010  lis.  6d. 
until  the  decision  of  the  suit  of  Solomonson  v. 
Stubbs. 

"Fleet  Street" 

"  You  see,"  says  Mr.  Nabb,  as  I  read  this  dread- 
ful letter,  "  you  see,  Shtubbsh,  dere  vas  two  debts, 
— a  little  von,  and  a  big  von.  So  dey  arrested  you 
for  the  little  von,  and  attashed  your  money  for  de 
big  von." 

Don't  laugh  at  me  for  telling  this  story  ;  if  you 
knew  what  tears  are  blotting  over  the  paper  as  I 
write  it ;  if  you  knew  that  for  weeks  after  I  was 
more  like  a  madman  than  a  sane  man — a  madman 
in  the  Fleet  Prison,  where  I  went,  instead  of  to 
the  desert  island.  What  had  I  done  to  deserve  it  ? 
Hadn't  I  always  kept  an  eye  to  the  main  chance  1 
Hadn't  I  lived  economically,  and  not  like  other 
young  men  1  Had  I  ever  been  known  to  squander 
or  give  away  a  single  penny !  No  !  I  can  lay  my 
hand  on  my  heart,  and,  thank  Heaven,  say,  No  ! 
Why — why  was  I  punished  so  1 

Let  me  conclude  this  miserable  history.  Seven 
months — my  wife  saw  me  once  or  twice,  and  then 
dropped  me  altogether— I  remained  in  that  fatal 
place.  I  wrote  to  my  dear  mamma,  begging  her 
to  sell  her  furniture,  but  got  no  answer.  All  my 
old  friends  turned  their  backs  upon  me.  My  action 
went  against  me— I  had  not  a  penny  to  defend  it. 
Solomonson  proved  my  wife's  debt,  and  seized  my 


two  thousand  pounds.  As  for  the  detainer  against 
me,  I  was  obliged  to  go  through  the  court  for  the 
relief  of  insolvent  debtors.  I  passed  through  it, 
and  came  out  a  beggar.  But,  fancy  the  malice  of 
that  wicked  Stiffelkind  ;  he  appeared  in  court  as 
my  creditor  for  £3,  with  sixteen  years'  interest,  at 
five  per  cent.,  for  a  pair  of  top-boots.  The  old 
thief  produced  them  in  court,  and  told  the  whole 
story — Lord  CornwaUis,  the  detection,  the  pump- 
ing, and  alL 

Commissioner  Dubobwig  was  very  funny  about 
it.  "  So  Doctor  Swislitail  would  not  pay  you  for 
the  boots,  eh,  :Mr.  Stiffelkind  ] " 

"  No ;  he  said,  ven  I  ask  him  for  payment,  dey 
was  ordered  by  a  yong  boy,  and  I  ought  to  have 
gone  to  his  schoolmaster." 

"  What,  then,  you  came  on  a  bootless  errand,  eh, 
sir?"    (A  laugh.) 

"  Bootless,  no  sare.  I  brought  the  boots  back 
vid  me  ;  how  de  devil  else  could  I  show  dem  to 
you  1    (Another  laugh.) 

"You've  never  soled  them  since,  Mr.  Tickle- 
shinsl" 

"  I  never  vood  sell  dem  ;  I  svore  I  never  vood, 
on  porpus  to  be  revenged  ondat  Stobbs." 

"  What,  your  wound  has  never  been  healed,  eh  1 " 

"  Vat  do  you  mean  vid  your  bootless  errants 
and  your  soling  and  healing !  I  tell  you  I  have 
done  vat  I  svore  to  do ;  I  have  exposed  him  at 
school,  I  have  broke  off  a  marriage  for  him,  ven 
he  vould  have  had  twenty  tousand  pound,  and 
now  I  have  showed  him  up  in  a  court  of  justice  ; 
dat  is  vat  I  ave  done,  and  dat's  enough."  And 
then  the  old  wretch  went  down,  whilst  everybody 
was  giggling  and  staring  at  poor  me — as  if  I  was 
not  miserable  enough  already. 

"  This  seems  the  dearest  pair  of  boots  you  ever 
had  in  your  life,  Mr.  Stubbs,"  said  Commissioner 
Dubobwig,  very  archly,  and  then  he  began  to 
inquire  about  the  rest  of  my  misfortunes. 

In  the  fulness  of  my  heart  I  told  him  the  whole 
of  them ;  how  Mr.  Solomonson  the  attorney  had 
introduced  me  to  the  rich  widow,  Mrs.  Manasseh, 
who  had  eighty  thousand  pounds,  and  an  estate  in 
the  West  Indies.  How  I  was  married,  and 
arrested  on  coming  to  town,  and  cast  in  an 
action  for  two  thousand  pounds,  brought  against 
me  by  this  very  Solomonson  for  my  wife's 
debts. 

"  Stop,"  says  a  lawyer  in  the  court.  "  Is  this 
woman  a  showy  black-haired  woman,  with  one 
eye  1  very  often  drunk,  with  three  children — 
Solomonson,  short,  with  red  hair  1 " 

"  Exactly  so,"  says  I,  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 

"That  woman  has  married  three  men  within 
the  last  two  years.  One  in  Ireland,  and  one  at 
Bath.  A  Solomonson  is,  I  believe,  her  hus- 
band, and  they  both  were  off  for  America  ten 
days  ago." 


THE   BOAT  RACE. 


315 


"  But  why  did  you  not  keep  your  £2,000 1 "  said 
the  lawyer. 
"  Sir,  they  attached  it." 
"  O  !  well,  we  may  pass  you  :  you  have  been 


unlucky,  Mr.  Stubbs,  but  it  seems  as  if  the  biter 
had  been  bit  in  this  affair." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Dubobwig,  "  Mr.  Stubbs  is  the 
victim  of  a  FATAL  ATTACHMENT." 


THE     BOAT     EAGE. 

[By  W.  C.  Bennett.] 


HERE,   win   the 
cup  and  you 
shall  have  my 
*       girl. 

I  won  it,  Ned; 
and  you  shall 
win  it  too. 
Or      wait      a 
twelvemonth. 
Books  —  for 
ever  books  ! 
Nothing    but 
talk  of  poets 
and     their 
rhymes ! 
I'd    have    you, 
boy,  a    man, 
with      thews 
and  strength 

To  breast  the  world  with,  and  to  cleave  your  way. 
No  maudlin  dreamer,  that  will  need  her  care, 
She  needing  yours.  There — there— I  love  you  Ned, 
Both  for  your  own,  and  for  your  mother's  sake  ; 
So  win  our  boat-race,  and  the  cup,  next  month. 
And  you  shall  have  her."     With  a  broad,  loud 

laugh, 
A  jolly  triumph  at  his  rare  conceit, 
He  left  the  subject ;  and  across  the  wine, 
We  talk'd — or  rather  all  the  talk  was  his — 
Of  the  best  oarsmen  that  his  youth  had  known. 
Both  of  his  set,  and  others — Clare,  the  boast 
Of  Jesus',  and  young  Edmonds,  he  who  fell. 
Cleaving  the  ranks  at  Lucknow  ;  and,  to-day. 
There  was  young  Chester  might  be  named  with 

them. 
"  Why,  boy,  I'm  told  his  room  is  lit  with  cups 
Won  by  his  sculls.     Ned,  if  he  rows,  he  wins  ; 
Small  chance  for  you,  boy."     And  again  his  laugh. 
With  its  broad  thunder,  turn'd  my  thoughts  to 

gall : 
But  yet  I  mask'd  my  humour  with  a  mirth 
Moulded  on  his  ;  and,  feigning  haste,  I  went, 
But  left  not.     Through  the  garden-porch  I  turn'd, 
But  on  its  sun-flecked  seats,  its  jessamine  shades 
Trembled  on  no  one.     Down  the  garden's  paths 
Wander'd  my  eye,  in  rapid  quest  of  one 
Sweeter  than  all  its  roses ;  and  across 


Its  gleaming  lilies  and  its  azure  oeiis, 

There,  in  the  orchard's  greenness,  down  beyond 

Its  sweetbriar  hedge-row,  found   her — found  her 

there, 
A  summer  blossom  that  the  peering  sun 
Peep'd  at  through  blossoms, — that  the  summer  airs 
Waver'd  down  blossoms  on,  and  amorous  gold. 
Warm  as  that  rain'd  on  Danae.    With  a  step, 
Soft  as  the  sun-light,  down  the  pebbled  path 
I  pass'd,  and,  ere  her  eye  could  cease  to  count 
The  orchard  daisies,  in  some  summer  mood 
Dreaming  (was  I  her  thought  1),   my   murmur'd 

"Kate" 
Shock'd  up  the  tell-tale  roses  to  her  cheek. 
And  lit  her  eyes  with  starry  lights  of  love 
That  dimm'd  the  daylight.     Then  I  told  her  all, 
And  told  her  that  her  father's  jovial  jest 
Should  make  her  mine,  and  kissed  her  sunlit  tears 
Away,  and  all  her  little  trembling  doubts. 
Until  hope  won  her  heart  to  happy  dreams, 
And  all  the  future  smiled  with  happy  love. 
Nor,  till  the  still  moon,  in  the  purpling  East, 
Gleam'd  through  the  twilight,  did  we  stay  our  talk, 
Or  part,  with  kisses,  looks,  and  whisper'd  words 
Remembered  for  a  lifetime.    Home  I  went. 
And  in  my  college  rooms  what  blissful  hopes 
Were  mine ! — what  thoughts,  that  still'd  to  happy 

dreams ; 
Where  Kate,  the  fadeless  summer  of  my  life, 
Made  my  years  Eden,  and  lit  up  my  home 
(The  ivied  rectory  my  sleep  made  mine), 
With  little  faces,,  and  the  gleams  of  curls. 
And  baby  crows,  and  voices  twin  to  hers. 
Oh,  happy  night !    Oh,  more  than  happy  dreams  ! 
But  with  the  earliest  twitter  from  the  eaves, 
I  rose,  and,  in  an  hour,  at  Clifford's  yard. 
As  if  iDut  boating  were  the  crown  of  life, 
Forgetting  Tennyson,  and  books,  and  rhymes, 
Even  my  new  tragedy  upon  the  stocks, 
I  thronged  my  brain  with  talks  of  lines  and  curves, 
And  all  that  makes  a  wherry  sure  to  win. 
And  furbish'd  up  the  knowledge  that  I  had, 
Ere  study  put  my  boyhood's  feats  away. 
And  made  me  bookworm.    All  that  day  my  hand 
Grew  more  and  more  familiar  with  the  oar, 
And  won  by  slow  degrees,  as  reach  by  reach 
Of  the  green  river  lengthen'd  on  mysight, 


ia 


316 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Its  by-laid  cunning  back  ;  so,  day  by  day, 

From  when  dawn  touch'd  our  elm-tops  till  the 

moon 
Gleam'd  through  the  slumbrous  leafage  of  our 

lawns, 
I  flashed  the  flowing  Tsis  from  my  oars, 
And  dream'd  of  triumph  and  the  prize  to  come  ; 
And  breathed  myself,  in  sport,  one  after  one, 
Against  the  men  with  whom  I  was  to  row, 
Until  I  feared  but  Chester— him  alone. 
So  June  stole  on  to  July,  sun  by  sun, 
And  the  day  came  ;  how  well  I  mind  that  day ! 
Glorious  with  svunmer,  not  a  cloud  abroad 


O  hope,  was  hope  a  prophet  truth  alone  ] 
There  was  a  murmur  in  my  heart  of  "  Yes," 
That  sung  to  slumber  every  wakening  fear 
That  still  would  stir  and  shake  me  with  its  dread. 
And  now  a  hush  was  on  the  wavering  crowd 
That  sway'd  along  the  river,  reach  by  reach, 
A  grassy  mile,  to  where  we  were  to  turn — 
A  barge  moor'd  midstream,  flush'd  with  fluttering 


And  we  were  ranged,  and,  at  the  gun,  we  went. 
As  in  a  horse-race,  all,  at  first,  a-crowd ; 
Then  thinning  slowly,  one  by  one  dropp'd  off". 
Till,  rounding  the  moor'd  mark,  Chester  and  I 


"  I  WfiUNG  HIS  ANSWERING   HAND." 


To  dim  the  golden  greenness  of  the  fields, 
And  all  a  happy  hush  about  the  earth. 
And  not  a  hum  to  stir  the  drowsing  noon, 
Save  where  along  the  peopled  towing-paths, 
Banking  the  river,  swann'd  the  city  out, 
Loud  of  the  contest,  bright  as  humming-birds. 
Two  winding  rainbows  by  the  river's  brinks, 
That  flush'd  with  boats  and  barges,  silken-awn'd 
Shading  the  fluttering  beauties  of  our  balls, 
Our  college  toasts,  and  gay  with  jest  and  laugh, 
Bright  as  their  champagne.     One,  among  them  all, 
My  eye  saw  only  ;  one,  that  morning,  left 
With  smiles  that  hid  the  terrors  of  my  heart. 
And  SY)oke  of  certain  hope,  and  mock'd  at  fears — 
One,  that  upon  my  neck  had  parting  hung 
Arms  white  as  daisies — on  my  bosom  hid 
A  tearful  face  that  sobb'd  against  my  heart, 
Filled  with  what  fondness !  yearning  with  what 

love ! 
O  hope,  and  woidd  the  glad  day  make  her  mine  ! 


Left  the  last  lingerer  with  us  lengths  astern. 
The  victory  hopeless.     Then  I  knew  the  strife 
Was  come,  and  hoped  'gainst  fear,  and,  oar  to  oar, 
Strain'd  to  the  work  before  me.     Head  to  head 
Through  the  wild-cheering  river-banks  we  clove 
The  swarming  waters,  raining  streams  of  toil ; 
But  Chester  gain'd,  so  much  his  tutor'd  strength 
Held  on  enduring — mine  still  waning  more, 
And  parting  with  the  victory,  inch  by  inch. 
Yet  straining  on,  as  if  I  strove  with  death, 
Until  I  groan'd  with  anguish.     Chester  heard. 
And  turn'd  a  wondering  face  upon  me  quick, 
And  toss'd  a  laugh  across,  with  jesting  words  : 
"  What,  Ned,  my  boy,  and  do  you  take  it  so  1 
The  cup's  not  worth  the  moaning  of  a  man. 
No,  nor  the  triumph.     Tush  !  boy,  I  must  win." 
Then  from  the  anguish  of  my  heart  a  cry 
Burst  :  "  Kate,  O  dearest  Kate— O  love — we  lose  !" 
"  Ah  !  I've  a  Kate,  too,  here  to  see  me  win," 
He  answer'd  ;  "  Faith  !  my  boy,  I  pity  you." 


HELPING   A   LAME   DOG   OVER   A   STILE. 


317 


"  Oh,  if  you  lose,"  I  answered,  "  you  but  lose 
A  week's  wild  triumph,  and  its  praise  and  pride  ; 
I,  losing,  lose  what  priceless  years  of  joy  ! 
Perchance  a  life's  whole  sum  of  happiness — 
What  years  with  her  that  I  might  call  my  wife  ! 
Winning,  I  win  her  !  "  Oh,  thrice  noble  heart ! 
I  saw  the  mocking  laugh  fade  from  his  face  • 
I  saw  a  nobler  light  Kght  up  his  eyes  j 
I  saw  the  flush  of  pride  die  into  one 
Of  manly  tenderless  and  sharp  resolve  ; 
No  word  he  spoke ;  one  only  look  he  threw, 
That  told  me  all ;  and,  ere  my  heart  could  leap 
In  prayers  and  blessings  rain'd  upon  his  name, 
I  was  before  him,  through  the  tracking  eyes 


Of  following  thousands,  heading  to  the  goal. 

The   shouting   goal,    that   hurl'd  my  conquering 

name 
Miles  wide  in  triumph,  "  Chester  foil'd  at  last !  " 
Oh,  how  I  turn'd  to  him  !  with  what  a  heart ! 
Unheard  the  shouts — unseen  the  crowding  gaze 
That  ring'd  us.    How  I  wrung  his  answering  hand 
With  grasps  that  bless'd  him,  and  with  flush  that 

told 
I  shamed  to  hear  my  name  more  loud  than  his, 
And  spurn'd  its  triumph.     So  I  won  my  wife, 
My  own  dear  wife  ;  and  so  I  won  a  friend, 
Chester,  more  dear  than  all  but  only  her. 
And  these,  the  small  ones  of  my  college  dreams. 


HELPING    A    LAME    DOG    OVER    A    STILE  * 

[From  "  Frank  Fairlegh."     By  Frank  E.  Smedlet.] 


<»i 


JL  T  was  usually  my  custom  of  an  afternoon  to 
I  read  Law  for  a  couple  of  hours,  a  course  of 
training  preparatory  to  committing  myself  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  a  special  pleader ;  and  as 
Sir  John's  well-stored  library  afforded  me  every 
facility  for  so  doing,  that  was  the  vemie  I  generally 
selected  for  my  interviews  with  Messrs.  Blackstone, 
Coke  upon  Lyttelton,  and  other  legal  luminaries. 
Accordingly,  on  the  day  in  question,  after  having 
nearly  quarrelled  with  my  mother  for  congratula- 
ting me  warmly  on  the  attainment  of  my  wishes, 
when  I  mentioned  to  her  Lawless's  proposal,  found 
fault  with  Fanny's  Italian  pronunciation  so  harshly 
as  to  bring  tears  into  her  eyes,  and  grievously 
offended  our  old  female  domestic  by  disdainfully 
rejecting  some  pet  abomination  upon  which  she 
had  decreed  that  I  should  lunch,  I  sallied  forth, 
and,  not  wishing  to  encounter  any  of  the  family, 
entered  the  hall  by  a  side  door,  and  reached  the 
library  unobserved.  To  my  surprise  I  discovered 
Lawless  (whom  I  did  not  recollect  ever  to  have 
seen  there  before,  he  being  not  much  given  to 
literary  pursuits)  seated,  pen  in  hand,  at  the  table, 
apparently  absorbed  in  the  mysteries  of  composi- 
tion. 
"  I  shall  not  disturb  you,  Lawless,"  said  T,  taking 


down  a  book.  "  I  am  only  going  to  read  Law  for 
an  hour  or  two." 

"  Eh  !  disturb  me  ? "  was  the  reply  ;  "  I'm  un- 
common glad  to  be  disturbed,  I  can  tell  you,  for 
hang  me  if  I  can  make  head  or  tail  of  it !  Here 
have  I  been  for  the  last  three  hours  trying  to  write 
an  offer  to  your  sister,  and  actually  have  not  con- 
trived to  make  a  fair  start  of  it  yet.  I  wish  you 
would  lend  me  a  hand,  there's  a  good  fellow — I 
know  you  are  up  to  all  the  right  dodges — just  give 
one  a  sort  of  notion,  eh  1,  don't  you  see  1 " 

"  What !  write  an  offer  to  my  own  sister  ]  Well, 
of  all  the  quaint  ideas  I  ever  heard,  that's  the 
oddest — really  you  must  excuse  me." 

"  Very  odd,  is  it  ?  "  inquired  Coleman,  opening 
the  door  in  time  to  overhear  the  last  sentence, 
"  Pray  let  me  hear  about  it  then,  for  I  like  to  know 
of  odd  things  particularly ;  but,  perhaps,  I'm  in- 
truding 1 " 

"  Eh  ?  no  ;  come  along  here,  Coleman,"  cried 
Lawless,  "  you  are  just  the  very  boy  I  want — I  am 
going  to  be  married — that  is,  I  want  to  be,  don't 
you  see,  if  she'll  have  me,  but  there's  the  rub ; 
Frank  Fairlegh  is  all  right,  and  the  old  lady  says 
she's  agreeable,  so  everything  depends  on  the 
young  woman  herself — if  she  will  but  say  '  Yes,' 


*  Bjr  permission  of  Messrs.  George  Routledge  and  Sous, 


318 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


we  shall  go  a-head  in  style ;  but,  unfortunately, 
before  she  is  likely  to  say  anything  one  way  or  the 
other,  you  understand,  I've  got  to  pop  the  question, 
as  they  call  it.  Now,  I've  about  as  much  notion 
of  making  an  offer,  as  a  cow  has  of  dancing  a 
hornpipe — so  I  want  you  to  help  us  a  bit — eh  ] " 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Freddy,  courteously  ;  "  I 
shall  be  only  too  happy,  and  as  delays  are 
dangerous,  I  had  perhaps  better  be  off  at  once — 
where  is  the  young  lady  ? " 

"  Eh !  hold  hard  there  !  don't  go  quite  so  fast, 
young  man,"  exclaimed  Lawless,  aghast ;  "  if  you 
bolt  away  at  that  pace  you'll  never  see  the  end  of 
the  run  ;  why,  you  don't  suppose  I  want  you  to  go 
and  talk  to  her — pop  the  question  viva  voce,  do 
you  ]  You'll  be  advising  me  to  be  married  by 
deputy,  I  suppose,  next.  No,  no,  I'm  going  to  do 
the  trick  by  letter — something  like  a  Valentine, 
only  rather  more  so,  eh]  but  I  can't  exactly 
manage  to  write  it  properly.  If  it  was  but  a 
warranty  for  a  horse,  now,  I'd  knock  it  off  in  no 
time,  but  this  is  a  sort  of  thing,  you  see,  I'm  not 
used  to ;  one  doesn't  get  married  as  easily  as  one 
sells  a  horse,  nor  as  often,  eh  ?  and  it's  rather  a 
nervous  piece  of  business — a  good  deal  depends 
upon  the  letter," 

"  You've  been  trying  your  hand  at  it  already,  I 
see,"  observed  Coleman,  seating  himself  at  the 
table ;  "  pretty  consumption  of  paper  !  I  wonder 
what  my  governor  would  say  to  me  if  I  were  to  set 
about  drawing  a  deed  in  this  style ;  why,  the  sta- 
tioner's bill  would  run  away  with  all  the  profits." 

"  Never  mind  the  profits,  you  avaricious  Jew," 
replied  Lawless.  "  Yes,  I've  been  trying  effects,  as 
the  painters  call  it — putting  down  two  or  three 
beginnings  to  find  out  which  looked  the  most  like 
the  time  of  day — you  understand  ]  " 

"  Two  or  three  ]  "  repeated  Coleman,  "  six  or 
seven  rather,  voyons.  '  Mr.  Lawless  presents  his 
affections  to  Miss  Fairlegh,  and  requests  the 
hon  .  .  .'  Not  a  bad  idea,  an  offer  in  the  third 
person — the  only  case  in  which  a  third  person 
would  not  be  de  trop  in  such  an  affair." 

"Eh!  yes,  I  did  the  respectful  when  I  first 
started,  you  know,  but  I  soon  dropped  that  sort  of 
thing  when  I  got  warm ;  you'll  see,  I  stepped  out 
no  end  afterwards." 

"  '  Honoured  Miss,'  continued  Coleman,  reading, 
"  '  My  sentiments,  that  is,  your  perfections,  your 
splendid  action,  your  high  breeding,  and  the  many 
slap-up  points  that  may  be  discerned  in  you  by  any 
man  that  has  an  eye  for  a  horse    .    .    .'" 

"  Ah  !  that  was  where  I  spoiled  it,"  sighed  Law- 
less. 

"Here's  a  very  pretty  one,"  resumed  Freddy. 
"'Adorable  and  adored  Miss  Fanny  Fairlegh, 
seeing  you  as  I  do,  with  the  eyes '  (Wliy,  she  would 
not  think  you  saw  her  with  your  nose,  would 
she  ?)  *  of  fond  affection,  probably  would  induce 


me  to  overlook  any  unsoundness  or  disposition  to 
vice    .    .    .'" 

"  That  one  did  not  turn  out  civilly,  you  see," 
said  Lawless,  "  or  else  it  wasn't  such  a  bad  begin- 
ning." 

"  Here's  a  better,"  rejoined  Coleman.  "  '  Ex- 
quisitely beautiful  Fanny,  fairest  of  that  lovely 
sex,  which  to  distinguish  it  from  us  rough  and 
ready  fox-hunters,  who,  when  once  we  get  our 
heads  at  any  of  the  fences  of  life,  go  at  it,  never 
mind  how  stiff  it  may  be  (matrimony  has  always 
appeared  to  me  one  of  the  stiffest),  and  generally 
contrive  to  find  ourselves  on  the  other  side,  with 
our  hind  legs  well  under  us  ; — a  sex,  I  say,  which 
to  distinguish  it  from  our  own,  is  called  the  fair 
sex,  a  stock  of  which  I  never  used  to  think  any 
great  things,  reckoning  them  only  fit  to  canter 
round  the  parks  with,  until  I  saw  you  brought 
out,  when  I  at  once  perceived  that  your  condi- 
tion— that  is,  my  feelings — were  so  inexpressible 
that    .    .    .  ! " 

"  Ah !  "  interposed  Lawless,  "  that's  where  I  got 
bogged,  sank  in  over  the  fetlocks,  and  had  to  give 
it  up  as  a  bad  job." 

"  In  fact,  your  feelings  became  too  many  for 
you,"  returned  Coleman  ;  "  but  what  have  we  here  ] 
— verses,  by  all  that's  glorious  ! " 

"  No,  no  !  I'm  not  going  to  let  you  read  them," 
exclaimed  Lawless,  attempting  to  wrest  the  paper 
out  of  his  hand. 

"  Be  quiet.  Lawless,"  rejoined  Coleman,  holding 
him  off,  "  sit  down  directly,  sir,  or  I  won't  write  a 
word  for  you  :  I  rrnist  see  what  all  your  ideas  are, 
in  order  to  get  some  notion  of  what  you  want  to 
say  ;  besides,  I've  no  doubt  they'll  be  very  original. 

I. 

*  Sweet  Fanny,  there  are  moments 

"When  the  heart  is  not  one's  own, 
When  we  fain  would  clip  its  wild  wings'  tip, 
But  we  find  the  bird  has  flown. 

II. 
'  Dear  Fanny,  there  are  moments 

When  a  loss  may  be  a  gain. 
And  sorrow,  joy — for  the  heart's  a  toy, 
And  loving's  such  sweet  pain. 

III. 

*  Yes,  Fanny,  there  are  moments 

When  a  smUe  is  worth  a  throne. 
When  a  frown  can  prove  the  flower  of  love 
Must  fade,  and  die  alone.' 

— Why,  you  never  wrote  those.  Lawless  1 " 

"  Didn't  I  ]  "  returned  Lawless,  "  but  I  know  I 
did,  though — copied  them  out  of  an  old  book  I 
found  up  there,  and  wrote  some  more  to  'em, 
because  I  thought  there  wasn't  enough  for  the 
money,  besides  putting  in  Fanny's  name  instead 
of — what,  do  you  think  ? — Phillis  ! — there's  a  name 
for  you ;  the  fellow  must  have  been  a  fool.    Why, 


HELPING  A  LAME  DOG  OVER  A  STILE. 


319 


I  would  not  give  a  dog  such  an  ill  name  for  fear 
somebody  should  hang  him  ;  but  go  on." 

"  Ah,  now  we  come  to  the  original  matter,"  re- 
turned Coleman,  "  and  very  original  it  seems. 

IV. 
'  Dear  Fanny,  there  are  moments 

When  love  gets  you  in  a  fix, 
Takes  the  bit  in  his  jaws,  and,  without  any  pause. 
Bolts  away  with  you  like  bricks. 

V. 

*  Yes,  Fanny,  there  are  moments 

When  affection  knows  no  bounds. 
When  I'd  rather  be  talking  with  you  out  a- walking, 
Than  rattling  after  the  hounds. 

VI. 
'  Dear  Fanny,  there  are  moments 

When  one  feels  that  one's  inspired, 
And    ....    and    .     .     .    .' 

— It  does  not  seem  to  have  been  one  of  those 
moments  with  you  just  then,"  continued  Freddy, 
"  for  the  poem  comes  to  an  abrupt  and  untimely 
conclusion,  unless  three  blots,  and  something  that 
looks  like  a  horse's  head,  may  be  a  hieroglyphic 
mode  of  recording  your  inspirations,  which  I'm  not 
learned  enough  to  decipher." 

"  Eh  !  no  ;  I  broke  down  there,"  replied  Law- 
less ;  "  the  muse  deserted  me,  and  went  off  in  a 
canter  for — where  was  it  those  young  women  used 
to  hang  out  1 — ^the '  Gradus  ad '  place,  you  know  ? " 

"The  tuneful  Nine,  whom  you  barbarously 
designate  young  women,"  returned  Coleman,  "  are 
popularly  supposed  to  have  resided  on  Mount  Par- 
nassus, which  acclivity  I  have  always  imagined  of 
a  triangular  or  sugar-loaf  form,  with  Apollo  seated 
on  the  apex  or  extreme  point,  his  attention  divided 
between  preserving  his  equilibrium  and  keeping  up 
his  playing,  which  latter  necessity  he  provided  for 
by  executing  difficult  passages  on  a  golden  (or, 
more  probably,  silver-gilt)  lyre." 

"Eh!  nonsense,"  rejoined  Lawless ;  "now,  do  be 
serious  for  five  minutes,  and  go  ahead  with  this 
letter,  there's  a  good  fellow,  for,  'pon  my  word,  I'm 
in  a  wretched  state  of  mind, — I  am  indeed.  It's  a 
fact,  I'm  nearly  half  a  stone  lighter  than  I  was 
when  I  came  here  ;  I  know  I  am,  for  there  was  an 
old  fellow  weighing  a  defunct  pig  down  at  the  farm 
yesterday,  and  I  made  him  let  me  get  into  the 
scales  when  he  took  piggy  out.  I  tell  you  what,  if 
I'm  not  married  soon  I  shall  make  a  job  for  the 
sexton  ;  such  incessant  wear  and  tear  of  the  sensi- 
bilities is  enough  to  kill  a  prize-fighter  in  full 
training,  let  alone  a  man  that  has  been  leading 
such  a  molly-coddle  life  as  I  have  of  late,  lounging 
about  drawing-rooms  like  a  lapdog." 

"Well,  then,  let  us  begin  at  once,"  said  Freddy, 
seizing  a  pen  ;  "  now,  what  am  I  to  say  1 " 

"  Eh  !  why,  you  don't  expect  me  to  know,  do 
you  ? "  exclaimed  Lawless,  aghast ;  "  I  might  just 


as  well  write  it  myself  as  have  to  tell  you  ;  no,  no, 
you  must  help  me,  or  else  I'd  better  give  the  whole 
thing  up  at  once." 

"  I'll  help  you,  man,  never  fear,"  rejoined  Freddy, 
"  but  you  must  give  me  something  to  work  upon  ; 
why,  it's  all  plain  sailing  enough ;  begin  by  de- 
scribing your  feelings." 

"  Feelings,  eh  ]  "  said  Lawless,  rubbing  his  ear 
violently  as  if  to  arouse  his  dormant  faculties  ; 
"  that's  easier  said  than  done.  Well,  here  goes  for 
a  start  :— '  My  dear  Miss  Fairlegh.'  " 

" '  My  dear  Miss  Fairlegh,' "  repeated  Coleman, 
writing  rapidly,  "  yes." 

"  Have  you  written  that  1 "  continued  Lawless  ; 
"  ar — let  me  think — '  I  have  felt  for  some  time 
past  very  peculiar  sensations,  and  have  become,  in 
many  respects,  quite  an  altered  man.' " 

" '  Altered  man,' "  murmured  Freddy,  still  writ- 
ing. 

'"I  have  given  up  hunting,'  "  resumed  Lawless, 
"'which  no  longer  possesses  any  interest  in  my 
eyes,  though  I  think  you'd  have  said,  if  you  had 
been  with  us  the  last  time  we  were  out,  that  you 
never  saw  a  prettier  run  in  your  life  ;  the  meet  v/as 
at  Chorley  Bottom,  and  we  got  away  in  less  than 
ten  minutes  after  the  hounds  had  been  in  cover, 
with  as  plucky  a  fox  as  ever  puzzled  a  pack ' " 

"  Hold  hard  there  ! "  interrupted  Coleman.  "  I 
can't  put  all  that  in  ;  nobody  ever  wrote  an  ac- 
count of  a  fox-hunt  in  a  love-letter, — no,  '  You've 
given  up  hunting,  which  no  longer  possesses  any 
interest  in  your  eyes  ;'  now  go  on." 

"  My  eyes,"  repeated  Lawless,  reflectively :  "  yes  ; 
'  I  am  become  indifferent  to  everything  ;  I  take  no 
pleasure  in  the  new  dog-cart  King  in  Long  Acre  is 
building  for  me,  with  cane  sides,  the  wheels  larger, 
and  the  seat,  if  possible,  still  higher  than  the  last, 
and  which,  if  I  am  not  very  much  out  in  my 
reckoning,  will  follow  so  light ' " 

"  I  can't  write  all  that  trash  about  a  dog-cart," 
interrupted  Freddy,  crossly  ;  "  that's  worse  than 
the  fox-hunting ;  stick  to  your  feelings,  man,  can't 
you  1 " 

"Ah,  you  little  know  the  effect  such  feelings 
produce,"  sighed  Lawless. 

"  That's  the  style,"  resumed  Coleman,  with  de- 
light ;  "  that  will  come  in  beautifully  ; — '  such  feel- 
ings produce  :'  now,  go  on." 

"  '  At  night  my  slumbers  are  rendered  distract- 
ing, by  visions  of  you  as — as 

"  '  The  bride  of  another,' "  suggested  Coleman. 

"  Exactly,"  resumed  Lawless ;  "  or, '  sleep  refus- 
ing to  visit  my ' " 

"  '  Aching  eye-balls,'  "  put  in  Freddy. 

" '  I  lie  tossing  restlessly  from  side  to  side,  as  if 
bitten  by '" 

"'  The  gnawing  tooth  of  Remorse  ;'—  that  will  do 
famously,"  added  his  scribe ;  "  now  tell  her  tha.^ 
she  is  the  cause  of  it." 


320 


GLEANINGS  FEOM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  All  these  unpleasantnesses  are  owing  to  you,' " 
began  Lawless. 

"  Oh  !  that  won't  do,"  said  Coleman  ;  "  no,— 
These  tender  griefs  (that's  the  term,  I  think)  are 
some  of  the  effects,  goods,  and  chattels,'— psha  !  I 
was  thinking  of  drawing  a  will—'  the  effects  pro- 
duced upon  me  by ' " 


Coleman,  "  *  to  succeed  in  winning  your  affection, 
it  will  be  the  study  of  my  future  life  to  prevent 

your  every  wish '" 

"  Eh  !  what  do  you  mean  1  not  let  her  have  her 
own  way  1—Oh !  that  will  never  pay ;  why,  the 
little  I  know  of  women,  I'm  sure  that,  if  you  want 
to  come  over  them,  you  must  flatter  'em  up  with 


DiCTATiNO  A  Proposal.     (Oraicu  bj  W.  Ralntuii,.) 


" '  The  wonderful  way  in  which  you  stuck  to 
your  saddle  when  the  mare  bolted  with  you,' "  re- 
joined Lawless,  enthusiastically  ; — "  what,  won't 
that  do  either  1" 

"  No,  be  quiet,  I've  got  it  all  beautifully  now,  if 
you  don't  interrupt  me  :  '  Your  many  perfections 
of  mind  and  person, — perfections  which  have  led 
me  to  centre  my  ideas  of  happiness  solely  in  the 
fond  hope  of  one  day  calling  you  my  own.' " 

"  That's  very  pretty  indeed,"  said  Lawless  ;  "  go 
on." 

"'Should  I  be  fortunate  enough,'"  continued 


the  idea  that  you  mean  to  give  'em  their  heads  on 
all  occasions — let  'em  do  just  what  tliey  like.  Tell 
a  woman  she  should  not  go  up  the  chimney,  it's  my 
belief  you'd  see  her  nose  peep  out  of  the  top  before 
ten  minutes  were  over.     Oh  !  that'll  never  do  ! " 

" Nonsense,"  interrupted  Freddy;  "'prevent' 
means  to  forestall  in  that  sense  ;  however,  I'll  put 
it  '  forestall,'  if  you  like  it  better." 

"  I  think  it  will  be  safest,"  replied  Lawless,  shak- 
ing his  head  solemnly. 

" '  In  everything  your  will  shall  be  law,'  "  con- 
tinued Coleman,  writing. 


FAIR  EOSAMOND. 


321 


"Oh  !  I  say,  that's  coming  it  rather  strong, 
though,"  interposed  Lawless ;  "  query  about  that  1 " 

"  All  right,"  rejoined  Coleman,  "  it's  always 
customary  to  say  so  in  these  cases,  but  it  means 
nothing  ;  as  to  the  real  question  of  mastery,  that 
is  a  matter  to  be  decided  post-nuptially  ;  you'll  be 
enlightened  on  the  subject  before  long  in  a  series 
of  midnight  discourses,  commonly  known  under 
the  title  of  curtain-lectures." 

"  Pleasant,  eh  1"  returned  Lawless  ;  "  well,  I  bet 
two  to  one  on  the  grey  mare,  for  I  never  could 
stand  being  preached  to,  and  shall  consent  to  any- 
thing for  the  sake  of  a  quiet  life — so  move  on." 

"  '  If  this  offer  of  my  heart  and  hand  should  be 
favourably  received  by  the  loveliest  of  her  sex,'  " 
continued  Coleman,  "  '  a  line,  a  word,  a  smile,  a  — ' " 

" '  Wink,' "  suggested  Lawless. 

"'Will  be  sufficient  to  acquaint  me  with  my 
happiness.' " 

"Tell  her  to  look  sharp  about  sending  an 
answer,"  exclaimed  Lawless  :  "  if  she  ^eeps  me 
waiting  long  after  that  letter's  sent,  I  shall  go  off 
pop,  like  a  bottle  of  ginger-beer  ;  I  know  I  shall, 
— string  won't  hold  me,  or  wire  either." 

" '  When  once  this  letter  is  despatched  I  shall 
enjoy  no  respite  from  the  tortures  of  suspense  till 
the  answer  arrives,  which  shall  exalt  to  the  highest 
pinnacle  of  happiness  or  plunge  into  the  lowest 
abysses  of  despair,  one  who  lives  but  in  the  sun- 
shine of  your  smile,  and  who  now,  with  the  liveliest 


affection,  tempered  by  the  most  profound  respect, 

ventures  to  sign  himself.  Your  devotedly  attached 
' » 

"  *  And  love-lorn,' "  interposed  Lawless,  in  a 
sharp,  quick  tone. 

"  Love-lorn  ?"  repeated  Coleman,  looking  up  with 
an  air  of  surprise ;  "  sentimental  and  ridiculous  in 
the  extreme  !   I  shall  not  write  any  such  thing." 

"  I  believe,  Mr.  Coleman,  that  letter  is  intended 
to  express  my  feelings  and  not  yours  1 "  questioned 
Lawless,  in  a  tone  of  stern  investigation. 

"Yes,  of  course  it  is,"  began  Coleman. 

"  Then  write  as  I  desire,  sir,"  continued  Lawless, 
authoritatively ;  "  I  ought  to  know  my  own  feel- 
ings best,  I  imagine ;  I  feel  love-lorn,  and  '  love- 
lorn' it  shall  be." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Coleman,  slightly 
offended,  "anything  you  please,  'Your  devotedly 
attached  and  love-lorn  admirer' — here,  sign  it 
yourself,  '  George  Lawless.'  " 

"  Bravo ! "  said  Lawless,  relapsing  into  his 
accustomed  good  humour  the  moment  the  knotty 
point  of  the  insertion  of  "love-lorn  '  had  been 
carried  ;  "  if  that  isn't  first-rate,  I'm  a  Dutchman  : 
why,  Freddy,  boy,  where  did  you  learn  it  ?  how 
does  it  all  come  into  your  head  1 " 

"Native  talent,"  replied  Coleman,  "combined 
with  a  strong  and  lively  appreciation  of  the  sub- 
lime and  beautiful,  chiefly  derived  from  ray 
maternal  grandmother  whose  name  was  Burke." 


FAIE    ROSAMOND. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

[By  Owen  Meredith   (The  Earl  of  Lytton.)] 


OIJD       CLIFFORD'S 
daughter    loved    a 
stranger  knight. 
i  Low        met        they  1 
Deem    some     gos- 
hawk   chanced    to 
light 
<  )ver         the         river 
freshets,       whence 
the  breeze 
Blew        the         faint 
bugle-notes      thro' 
slumbrous  trees 
Across      that      sleepy 
wood       that       lay 
about 
The  limits  of  Lord  Clifford's  land  ;  nor  doubt 
How  the  knight,  following  with  jess  and  hood 
Thorough  the  green  realm  of  the  rippling  wood, 
To  call  back  and  recapture  his  estray, 
2o 


Met  with  the  maiden.     Sure  the  bold  blue  jay. 

Sitting  against  the  sun  on  some  great  bough, 

Was  over  garrulous,  and  blabb'd,  I  trow. 

The  wood's  best  secret  :  or  the  sweet  stock-dove 

Moan'd  from  her  warm  green  hiding-place  above 

Peculiar  pathos  to  enchant  his  way. 

I,  who  believe  in  what  old  poets  say. 

Deem  the  dim-footed  Dryads  of  the  place 

Flitted  before  him,  each  with  wistful  face 

And  woodland  eyes,  from  many  a  sunken  hollow, 

Athwart    the     sun-sweet     mosses,     murmuring 

"Follow!" 
While  the  leaves  wink'd,  and  clapp'd  their  hands 

together. 
Too  mad  with  May-dew  and  the  merry  weather 
To  keep  the  tender  secret  to  themselves, 
Breaking  their  moonlight  oaths  to  the  mild  elves. 
Enough,  that — whether  by  fair  fate  or  chance, 
Or  led  by  Powers  that  ruled  in  old  romance — 
He  'lighted  on  the  maid  in  happy  hour, 


322 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


And  found  her  fairer  than  the  bramble  flower 
That  unbeholden  bears  the  wilding  rose, 
Fresh  as  a  first  spring  dawn  that,  ere  it  close. 
Leaves  the  world  wealthier  for  the  violet ; 
For  ere  they  parted  (howsoever  they  met), 
A  sweetness,  like  the  scent  from  some  unseen 
And  new-born  flower  that  makes  the  mild  month 

green. 
Lingering  along  the  thoughts  of  each,  made  known 
That  the  first  violet  of  the  heart  was  blown — 
Love,  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  youth  ! 
Sweet  Rosamunda,  maid  o'  the  rosy  mouth. 
Did  the  deep  skies  assume  more  blissful  blue, 
Saw  ye  faint  fairy  footsteps  in  the  dew, 
Tliat  eve,  when  Love's  pale  planet  niade  aware 
Of  Love's  faint  advent  all  the  holy  air 
About  the  ivy-twine  and  eglatere 
Bowering  the  Vialmy  casement,  where  shy  fear 
Of  thine  own  young  heart  leaping  into  life 
Against  its  fragrant  girdle,  wrought  sweet  strife 
Among  thy  maiden  musings  ]  None  shall  tell 
The  secret  of  that  hour,  and  this  is  well 
No  old  worm-eaten  page  with  flowery  marge, 
And  faded  letters,  once  made  fair  and  large 
To  suit  the  sight  of  some  lascivious  king, 
Remaineth  now  to  babble  anything 
To  prying  pedants  of  thine  inmost  heart ; 
But,  in  unfading  Fable-land,  thou  art 
(Among  green  England's  greenest  memories) 
A  flower  kept  fresh  by  tears  from  poets'  eyes. 
Albeit,  fond  fancies  sue  me  to  conceive 
How  many  a  gleaming  morn  and  glimmering  eve 
Beheld  the  stranger,  that  sweet  trespass  made 
A  welcome  guest,  in  Cliff"ord's  halL     I  said 
"  The  Stranger  : "  but  not  nameless,  sure,  he  came. 
The  Count  Plantagenet  had  such  a  name 
Might  win  him  welcome  when  the  love  of  sport 
Lured  him  that  way  ;  the  manners  of  the  Court, 
^Moreover,  mingling  with  a  debonaire 
Frank  nature,  made  his  comely  presence  there 
A  secret  pleasure  in  the  pride  of  all 
The  homely  inmates  of  Lord  Cliff'ord's  hall. 
His  stout  voice  cheer'd  the  fifty  squires  that  bowl'd 
The  daylight  down  in  alleys  green  and  cold  : 
His  brave  lips  blew  so  shrill  a  blast  among 
The  echoing  glades  that,  when  the  high  wood  rung 
To  his  blithe  bugle,  every  huntsman  knew 
That  note,  and  merrily  his  response  blew. 
Nor  less,  when  oft  to  snare  the  sliding  fish. 
Among  the  low-bridged  moats,  with  silken  mesh, 
Fair  Rosamunda  and  her  maids  would  lean, 
The    courtly    guest    soft    songs    could    breathe 

between 
The  rippled  silver  of  most  sweet  lute-strings, 
^Musical  with  great  loves  of  mighty  kings 
For  queens  of  old,  and  every  fair  romance 
By  well-skill'd    minstrels    sung    through    sunny 

France ; 
Till,  as  a  Naiad  being  slowly  bom, 


That  rises  up  a  forest  fount  forlorn, 

The  maiden's  misty  sense  of  her  own  love, 

Borne  on  the  mounting  music,  seem'd  to  move 

Up  every  virgin  pulse  to  palpable 

And  passionate  consciousness.    He  touched  so  well 

The  tingling  source  of  tender  thoughts  ! 

Half  child, 
Half  giant,  there  was  in  him,  undefil'd, 
The  fresh  fount  of  an  overflowing  heart. 
And  that  strong  sense  that  grasps  the  sovranest 

part 
Of  life,  and  makes  it  pregnant.     See  him  stand, 
His  grey  goshawk  upon  his  ungloved  hand  ! 
Singulfus  shows  ye  how  he  yet  appears 
Athwart  the  ravage  of  those  ruthless  years 
That  make  men  names,  or  nothing.    I,  meanwhile, 
Follow  these  fancies,  meaning  to  beguile 
Dull  days,  unlike  the  days  whereof  I  sing. 
Blown  blossoms  from  the   May  of    the  world's 

spring. 
Yet  were  their  goings,  comings,  mysteries, 
Wild  intervals  of  absence,  vague  surmise. 
Oft,  in  the  midst  of  tenderest  talk,  he  sat 
Suddenly  silent,  gazing  sternly  at 
The  faint  blue  upland  objects  leagues  away ; 
As  tho',  for  him,  beyond  the  hills  there  lay 
A  fiercer  world  than  that  'mid  those  soft  bowers 
Visited  only  by  the  silver  showers. 
And  then  the  woman-instinct  in  her  heart 
Dimly  divined  her  presence  claim'd  no  part 
Among  those  fitful  moods  :  and  if  her  glance 
Stole  up  the  silence  to  his  countenance 
Timidly,  she  beheld  upon  his  brow 
Deep  furrows  folding,  and  a  shadow  grow 
Into  his  face,  as  when  in  open  lands 
The  shadow  of  a  hawk  sweeps  o'er  still  sands. 
So  that  her  love  was  like  a  summer  cloud 
Breathless  above  some  brooding  garden  bow'd, 
Where  all  the  watchful  roses  seem  aware 
Of  the  uncertain  spirit  in  the  air, 
And  even  the  brightest  minutes  of  that  love 
Were  but  as  rays  of  light  that  rest  above 
Such  clouds  as,  girt  with  thunder  at  the  base, 
Have  yet  sweet  sunlight  sleeping  on  their  face. 
At  last  doubt  broke  to  passionate  appeal 
That  drew  such  response  as  did  less  reveal 
Than  hint  deep  cause  for  these  disturbed  moods  : 
Court  complots  growing  from  domestic  feuds  : 
A  spleenful  parent,  powerful  friends  to  be 
Humour'd,  and  some  persistent  enemy. 
An  easy  tale  Lord  Clifford's  faith  beguil'd, 
Who  loved  the  comely  guest  that  loved  his  child. 
They  wed,  by  night,  in  secret.     A  strange  friar 
Join'd  them.    And  when,  too  late,  the  stricken 

sire 
Learn'd    all  :    the    falsehood    consummate    that 

night — 
The  mockery  of  the  midnight  marriage  rite — 


11 


A    MINSTREL    KING.     (Drawn  ly  M.  L.  Gow.) 


"FA in    nOSAAfO.VD"  (p    S-'i) 


FAIR   ROSAMOND. 


323 


The  maid  a  mother  whom  the  blessed  name 

Of  wife  might  shield  not  from  a  leman's  shame — 

The  true  name  of  his  over-trusted  guest : 

He  lock'd  so  close  the  secret  in  his  breast, 

That  his  heart  broke  beneath  it.     With  grey  head 

Bow'd  henceforth  by  the  weight  of  nothing  said, 

He  to  a  near  grave  crept  unmurmuring. 

Loyal  in  death  to  the  disloyal  king. 


Night  gather'd  up  the  ghostly  solitudes 
And  gave  them  voices  from  the  groaning  wood's 
Black  bowels,  stray'd  wayfarers  had  been  known 
To  see  a  furious  horseman,  toward  the  town, 
Bounding  o'er  bosky  places  in  the  moon  ; 
And  once  a  tir'd  nut-gathering  village  loon. 
Lost  in  the  wood,  came  suddenly  upon 
The  castle,  glaring  in  the  sinking  sun  ; 


"Thet  wed  by  nioht,  in  secret."    (Drawnh'j  M.  L.  Gow.) 


Meanwhile,  in  Woodstock  town  wild  nimour  told 
Of  a  strange  castle  from  enchantments  old. 
Raised  up  by  Merlin  in  the  days  gone  by. 
And  buried  deep  in  woods  from  every  eye 
Save  of  the  sun  and  silent  stars  :  and  there 
('Twas  said)  a  lady  magically  fair 
Dwelt  folded  fast  by  many  a  fortress  wall. 
So  held  by  some  wild  baron  for  his  thralL 
For  oft,  at  eve,  the  unwhispering  woods  among. 
Some  wandering  woodman  heard  a  plaintive  song 
That  fell  more  soft  than  softest  twilight  falls 
From  battlements  of  blossom-bosom'd  walls. 
O'er  woodland,  water,  glade,  and  hollow  glen, 
Breaking  the  heart  of  silence  ;  often,  when 


Where,  from  beneath  the  southern  wall  he  spied 
A  fair  green  garden-lawn,  enfolded  wide 
With  flowery  alleys,  cloister'd  arbours,  close 
Roof'd  with  the  ripe  and  multitudinous  rose, 
And,  by  a  creaming  fountain,  standing  there 
Alone,  a  lady  marvellously  fair 
And  melancholy  pale.     To  scan  her  face 
(Since  the  spent  moat  in  that  unnoticed  place 
Ran  dry,  and  chok'd    among   thick   weeds)  ha 

crept 
Under  the  parapet,  but  scarce  had  stept 
LTp  to  his  perch  when  straight  an  armed  hand 
Stretch'd  o'er  the  toothed  wall,  and  graspt  him, 

and 


324 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


Dropt  him  among  the  dank  moat  flowers.    The 

tale 
In  Woodstock  hostel,  pusht  with  pots  of  ale, 
Circled  the  board,  and  made  a  certain  stir 
Among  the  gossips  there  ;  each  wassailer, 
Pledging  the  enchanted  lady,  took  it  up, 
Play'd  on,  and  passVl  it  with  a  flowing  cup 
To  his  swill'd  neighbour,  till  from  man  to  man. 
It  grew  more  woudei-ful  as  round  it  ran. 
But  we,  by  Dan  Apollo  visited 
With  visionary  ix)wer,  boldly  tread 
The  haunted  woodland.     Fancy  finds  the  clue — 
The  forest  trees  are  spell'd  to  let  us  thro'. 
Leave  Woodstock  sleeping  in  the  dawn.  We  stand 
In  the  wood's  heart.    Autumn,  with  unseen  hand, 
Hath  been  before  to  brand  the  shrivell'd  fern 
With  biting  gold  ;  already  you  discern 
Her  doings  in  the  abandon'd  glens.     Then  jiass 
A  few  leagues  further.     Comes  a  wild  morass, 
Steam 'd  o'er  by  shining  va]>our,  where  the  foot 
Pashes  marsh-mallows  and  blue  lily-root 
'Twixt  streaks  of  flashing  water  :  everything 
Is  dumb  save  some  great  heron  making  wing 
Heavily  o'er  the  waste,  and  that  intense 
Sharp    insect    sound    that    swanus    about    the 

immense 
And  .simmering  surface  of  the  solitude 
Thru'  which  the  way  lies.     Then  again  the  wood 
Unclasps  and  takes  us.     Day  is  falling  down, 
And  the  last  sunbeams  under  elm-trees  brown 
Lie  dreaming,  and  the  hazel-thickets  close 


About  us,  and  more  labyrinthine  blows 

The  hundred-handed  bramble,  tho'  despoil'd 

Of  her  Briareau  blossoms  :  heap'd  and  coil'd, 

The  wood  hangs  round  us,  heavy  ;  till  dismay 

Takes  it  and  suddenly  it  voids  its  prey, 

And  we  stand,  breathless,  in  the  open  chase — 

Across  a  league  of  sunset,  face  to  face 

With  a  grey  clump  of  turrets.     Thro'  thick  grass, 

Gilt  with  the  golden  gallingale,  we  pass, 

Blow    the    slug- horn,    down    clangs    the   sharp 

drawbridge 
Over  a  melancholy  moat  the  midge 
O'ercircles,  and  the  sullen  pompion, 
With  pallid  blossoms  sleeping  in  the  sun, 
On  the  black  water.     Thence,  with  fold  on  fold. 
The  forked  fortress'  outworks  grimly  hold 
At  baj'  the  in-comer.     Suddenly  we  are 
(Alone  with  Hesperus  the  happy  star) 
In  the  dim  garden  :  fades  the  world  beyond, 
And  in  her  bower  behold  Fair  Rosamond  ! 
The  dying  sun  on  each  ambrosial  curl, 
Fall'n  round  her  white  neck  fiom  the  braided 

pearl, 
Stays  all  his  softest  light,  and  will  not  set ; 
Whilst  at  her  feet  the  great  Plantagenet 
Lies,  looking  up  into  those  lustrous  eyes, 
And  from  his  forehead  slowly,  slowly  dies 
The  furrow  and  the  frown,  and  from  his  face 
(Bath'd  in  that  blissful  beauty)  the  vext  trace 
Of  Eleanor's  last  look— the  sharp  French  shrew — 
And  all  his  rebel  sous,  and  false  Anjou. 


THE    SHOWMAN'S    COURTSHIP. 

[By  "Aktemus  Ward."] 


HARE  was 
many  affectin 
ties  which  made 
me  hanker  arter 
Betsy  Jane.  Her 
father's  farm 
jined  our'n ;  their 
cows  and  our'n 
squencht  their 
thurst  at  the  same 
spring ;  our  old 
mares  both  had 
stars  in  their  for- 
rerds ;  the  measles 
broke  out  in  both  famerlies  at  nearly  the  same 
period  ;  our  parients  (Betsy's  and  mine)  slept 
reglarly  every  Sunday  in  the  same  meetin- 
house,  and  the  nabers  used  to  obsarve,  "How 
thick  the  Wards  and  Peasleys  air ! "  It  was  a 
surblime  site,  in  the  Spring  of  the  year,  to  see  our 


.■J^JIIiwIi^^ 


sevral  mothers  (Betsy's  and  mine)  with  their  gowns 
pin'd  up  so  thay  couldn't  sile  'em,  affecshunitly 
bilin  sope  together  &  aboozin  the  nabers. 

Altho  I  hankerd  intensly  arter  the  objeck  of  my 
afFecshuns,  I  darsunt  tell  her  of  the  fires  which 
was  rajin  in  my  manly  buzzum.  I'd  try  to  do  it, 
but  my  tung  would  kerwollup  up  agin  the  roof  of 
my  mowth  &  stick  thar,  like  deth  to  a  deseast 
Afrikan  or  a  country  postmaster  to  his  offiss, 
while  my  hart  whanged  agin  my  ribs  like  a  old 
fashioned  wheat  flale  agin  a  barn  door. 

'Twas  a  carm  still  nite  in  Joon.  All  nater  was 
husht  and  nary  zeffer  disturbed  the  screen  silens. 
I  sot  with  Betsy  Jane  on  the  fense  of  her  farther's 
pastur.  We'd  been  rompin  threw  the  woods, 
kullin  flours  &  drivin  the  woodchuck  from  his 
Nativ  Lair  (.so  to  speak)  with  long  sticks.  Wall, 
we  sot  thar  on  the  fense,  a  smngin  our  feet  two 
and  fro,  blushin  as  red  as  the  Baldinsville  skool 
house  when  it  was  fust  painted,  and  lookin  very 


THE   SHOWMAN'S   COURTSHIP. 


325 


simple,  I  make  no  doubt.  My  left  arm  was  ockepied 
in  ballunsin  myself  on  the  fense,  while  my  rite  was 
woundid  luvinly  round  her  waste. 

I  cleared  my  throat  and  tremblinly  sed,  "  Betsy, 
you're  a  Gazelle." 

I  thought  that  air  was  putty  fine.  I  waitid  to 
see  what  efFeck  it  would  hav  upon  her.  It  evidently 
didn't  fetch  her,  for  she  up  and  sed — 

"  You're  a  sheep  ! " 

Sez  I,  "  Betsy,  I  think  very  muchly  of  you." 


probly  for  sum  time,  but  unfortnitly  I  lost  my 
ballunse  and  fell  over  into  the  pastur  ker  smash, 
tearin  my  close  and  seveerly  damagin  myself 
ginerally. 

Betsy  Jane  sprung  to  my  assistance  in  dubble 
quick  time  and  dragged  me  4th.  Then,  drawin 
herself  up  to  her  full  hite,  she  sed  : 

"  I  won't  listen  to  your  noncents  no  longer.  Jes 
say  rite  strate  out  what  you're  drivin  at.  If  you 
mean  gettin  hitched,  I'm  in  !  " 


"If  you  mean  gettin  hitched,  I'm  in!"     {Drawnhy  W.  Ral-ton.) 


"  I  don't  b'leeve  a  word  you  say — so  there  now, 
cum !  "  with  which  obsarvashun  she  hitched  away 
from  me. 

"  I  wish  thar  was  winders  to  my  Sole,"  sed  I, 
"  so  that  you  could  see  some  of  my  feelins.  There's 
fire  enuff  in  here,"  sed  I,  strikin  my  buzzum  with 
my  fist,  "  to  bile  all  the  corn  beef  and  turnips  in 
the  naberhood.  Versoovius  and  the  Critter  ain't  a 
circumstans  !" 

She  bowd  her  hed  down  and  commenst  chawin 
the  strings  to  her  sun  bonnet. 

"  Ar  could  you  know  the  sleeplis  nites  I  worry 
threw  with  on  your  account,  how  vittles  has  seized 
to  be  attractiv  to  me  &  how  my  lims  has  shrunk 
up,  you  wouldn't  dowt  me.  Gaze  on  this  wastin 
form  and  these  'ere  sunken  cheeks " 

I  should  have  continnered  on  in   this  strane 


I  considered  that  air  enuff  for  all  practical  pur- 
pusses,  and  we  proceeded  immejitly  to  the  parson's 
&  was  made  1  that  very  nite. 


I've  parst  thrcAV  many  tryin  ordeels  sins  then, 
but  Betsy  Jane  has  bin  troo  as  steeL  By  attendin 
strickly  to  bizniss  I've  amarsed  a  handsum  Pit- 
tance. No  man  on  this  foot-stool  can  rise  &  git  up 
&  say  I  ever  knowinly  injered  no  man  or  wimmin 
folks,  while  all  agree  that  my  Show  is  ekalled  by 
few  and  exceld  by  none,  embracin  as  it  does  a 
wonderful  colleckshun  of  livin  wild  Beests  of 
Pray,  snaix  in  grate  profushun,  a  endliss  variety 
of  life-size  wax  figgers,  &  the  only  traned  kangaroo 
in  Ameriky — the  most  amoozin  little  cuss  ever 
introjuced  to  a  discriminatin  public. 


326 


GLEANINGS  FROM    POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


A    THANK-OFFERING. 


[From  "  The  Vicar's  People,"  by  G.  Masville  Fesn.] 


rtv^ 


HERE  was  a  bit  of  excitement 
do^^^l  on  the  cliff. 

"Here    you,   Amos    Pengelly, 

what  have  you  got  to  say  to  it  ? " 

said   Tom    Jennen.      "You  don't 

carry  on   none   o'  them  games  at 

chapel.     Why  don't  you  set  to  and 

have  thanksgiving,  and  turn  chapel 

into  greengrocer's    shop  like  up  town 

in  Penzaunce  ? " 

Amos  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing. 
"  Why,"  said  Tom  Jennen,  "  you  never 
see  anything  like  it,  lads.  I  went  up 
church-town,  and  see  something  going  on,  when 
there  was  Penwynn's  gardener  with  a  barrowful 
o'  gashly  old  stuff — carrots,  and  turnips,  and 
'tatoes,  and  apples,  and  pears,  and  a  basket  o' 
grapes ;  an'  parson,  and  young  Miss  Ehoda,  and 
Miss  Pavey,  all  busy  there  inside  turning  the 
church  into  a  reg'lar  shop.  Why,  it'll  look  wonder- 
ful gashly  to-morrow." 

"They  calls  it  harvest  thanksgiving,"  said 
another  fisherman,  "and  I  see  pretty  nigh  a  cart- 
load o'  flowers,  and  wheat,  and  barley,  and  oats,  go 
in.     Won't  be  no  room  for  the  people." 

"I  thought  the  church  looked  very  nicely," 
interposed  Amos  Pengelly  ;  "  and  if  I  wasn't  down 
on  the  plan  to  preach  to-morrow  at  St.  Milicent, 
I'd  go  myself." 

"  Lor'  a  mussy,  Amos  Pengelly,  don't  talk  in 
that  way,"  said  Tom  Jennen.  "I  never  go  to 
church,  and  I  never  did  go,  but  I  never  knew  old 
parson  carry  on  such  games.  Harvest  thanks- 
giving, indeed  !  I  never  see  such  a  gashly  sight 
in  my  life.     Turnips  in  a  church !  " 

"Well,  but  don't  you  see,"  said  Amos,  in  an 
expounding  tone  of  voice,  "these  here  are  all 
offerings  for  the  harvest ;  and  turnips  and  carrots 
may  be  as  precious  as  offerings  as  your  fine  fruits, 
and  grapes,  and  flowers." 

"Well  said,  lad,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  fisher- 
men ;  "  and,  like  'tatoes,  a  deal  more  useful." 

"  Didn't  Cain  an'  Abel  bring  their  offerings  to 
the  altar  1 "  said  Amos,  who  gathered  strength  at 
these  words  of  encouragement. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom  Jennen,  grinning,  "  and  Cain's 
'tatoes,  and  turnips,  and  things,  weren't  much 
thought  on,  and  all  sorts  o'  trouble  come  out 
of  it  Garden  stuff  ain't  the  right  thing  for 
offerings.  Tellee  what,  lads,  here's  our  boat  with 
the  finest  haul  o'  mack'ral  we've  had  this  year,  and 
Cumow's  boat  half  full  o'  big  hake.  We  arn't  got 
no  lambs,  but  what  d'yer  say,  Amos  Pengelly,  to 


our  taking  parson  up  a  couple  o'  pad  o'  the  finest 
mack'ral,  and  half  a  score  o'  big  hake  ? " 

Tom  Jennen  winked  at  his  companions  as  he 
said  this,  and  his  looks  seemed  to  say — 

"  There's  a  poser  for  him  ! " 

Amos  Pengelly  rubbed  one  ear,  and  then  he 
rubbed  the  other,  as  he  stood  there,  apparently 
searching  for  precedent  for  such  an  act.  He 
wanted  to  work  in  something  from  the  New  Testa- 
ment about  the  Apostles  and  their  fishing,  and  the 
miraculous  draught,  but  poor  Amos  did  not  feel 
inspired  just  then,  and  at  last,  unable  to  find  an 
appropriate  quotation,  he  said — 

"  I  think  it  would  be  quite  right,  lads.  It  would 
be  an  ottering  from  the  harvest  of  the  sea.  Parson 
said  he  wanted  all  to  give  according  to  their  means, 
and  you  lads  have  had  a  fine  haul.  Take  up  some 
of  your  best." 

"  What,  up  to  church  1 "  cried  Tom  Jennen. 
"It'll  make  a  reg'lar  gashly  old  smell." 

"Nay,"  said  Amos,  "they'd  be  fresh  enough 
to-morrow." 

"You  daren't  take  'em  up  to  parson,  Tom 
Jennen,"  said  one  of  the  men,  grinning. 

Tom  took  a  fresh  bit  of  tobacco,  spat  several 
times  down  on  to  the  boulders,  and  narrowly 
missed  a  mate,  who  responded  with  a  lump  of 
stone  from  the  beach  below,  and  then,  frowning 
hugely,  he  exclaimed — 

"  I  lay  a  gallon  o'  ale  I  dai'e  take  up  a  hundred 
o'  mack'ral  and  half  a  score  o'  hake,  come  now." 

"  Ye  daren't,"  chorused  several.  "Parson  '11  gie 
ye  such  a  setting  down." 

"  I  dare,"  said  Tom  Jennen,  grinning,  "  I  arn't 
feard  o'  all  the  parsons  in  Cornwall.  I'll  take  it 
up." 

"  Bet  you  a  gallon  o'  ale  you  won't,"  said  one. 

"  Done,"  cried  Tom  Jennen,  clapping  his  hand 
into  that  of  his  mate. 

"And  I'll  lay  you  a  gallon,"  said  another. 

"  And  I,"—"  and  I "— "  and  I,"  cried  several. 

"  Done  !  done !  done ! "  cried  Tom  Jennen> 
grinning.  "  Get  the  fish,  lads.  I  arn't  afraid  o' 
the  parson.     I'll  take  'em." 

Amos  Pengelly  looked  disturbed,  but  he  said 
nothing. 

"  W^hat's  he  going  to  do  with  all  the  stuff  after- 
wards 1 "  said  Tom  Jennen. 

"  Give  it  to  the  poor  folk,  I  hear,"  said  Amos. 

"Then  he  shall  have  the  fish!"  cried  Tom 
Jennen.     "  Anyhow,  I'll  take  'em  up." 

There  was  a  regular  roar  of  laughter  here,  and  a 
proposal  was  made  to  go  and  drink  one  of  the 


A   THANK-OFFERING. 


327 


gallons  of  ale  at  once,  a  proposal  received  with 
acclamation,  for  now  that  the  bet  had  been  decided 
upon,  the  want  of  a  little  Dutch  courage  was  felt, 
for,  in  spite  of  a  show  of  bravado,  there  was  not  a 
man  amongst  the  group  of  fishermen  who  did  not, 
in  his  religiously-superstitious  nature,  feel  a  kind 
of  shrinking,  and  begin  to  wonder  whether 
"  parson  "  might  not  curse  them  for  their  profanity 
in  taking  up  in  so  mocking  a  spirit  such  an  offer- 
ing as  fish. 

"  Thou'lt  come  and  have  a  drop  o'  ale,  Amos 
Pengelly,"  said  Tom  Jennen. 

"  No,"  said  Amos,  "  I'm  going  on." 

"  Nay,  nay,  come  and  have  a  drop  ;  "  and  almost 
by  force  Amos  was  restrained,  and  to  a  man  the 
group  joined  in  keeping  him  amongst  them,  feeling 
as  if  his  presence,  being  a  holy  kind  of  man,  might 
mitigate  any  pains  that  might  befall  them. 

If  one  only  had  hinted  at  the  danger,  the  rest 
would  have  followed,  and  the  plan  would  have 
come  to  an  end ;  but  no  one  M'ould  show  the  white 
feather,  and,  with  plenty  of  laughing  and  bravado, 
first  one  and  then  a  second  gallon  of  ale  was 
drunk  by  the  group,  now  inci-eased  to  sixteen  or 
seventeen  men  ;  after  which  they  went  down  to 
the  boats,  the  fish  were  selected,  and  four  baskets 
full  of  the  best  were  carried  in  procession  up  to 
the  church,  with  Tom  Jennen  chewing  away  at  his 
tobacco,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  swaggering 
at  the  head  of  the  party. 

It  was  a  novel  but  a  goodly  offering  of  the 
silvery  harvest  of  the  sea,  and  by  degrees  the 
noisy  talking  and  joking  of  the  men  subsided,  till 
they  talked  in  whispers  of  what  "  parson  "  would 
say,  and  how  they  would  draw  off  and  leave  Tom 
Jennen  to  bear  the  brunt  as  soon  as  they  had  set 
the  baskets  down  by  the  porch  ;  and  at  last  they 
moved  on  in  silence. 

There  was  not  one  there  who  could  have 
analysed  his  own  feelings,  but  long  before  they 
reached  the  church  they  were  stealing  furtive 
glances  one  at  the  other,  and  wishing  that  they  had 
not  come,  wondering,  tco,  whether  any  misfortune 
would  happen  to  boat  or  net  in  their  next  trip. 

But  for  very  shame  they  would  have  set  down 
the  baskets  on  the  rough  stones  and  hurried  away, 
"but  the  wager  had  been  made,  and  there  was  Tom 
Jennen  in  front  rolling  along,  his  hands  deeper 
than  ever  in  his  pockets,  first  one  shoulder  forward 
and  then  the  other.  He  drew  a  hand  out  once  to 
give  a  tug  at  the  rings  in  his  brown  ears,  but  it 
went  back  and  down,  and  somehow,  in  spite  of  his 
bravado,  a  curious  look  came  over  Tom  Jennen's 
swarthy  face,  and  he  owned  to  himself  that  he 
didn't  like  "  the  gashly  job." 

"  But  I  arn't  'fraid  o'  no  parsons,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  and  he  may  say  what  he  likes,  I'll  win 
them  six  gallons  o'  ale  whether  he  ill-wishes  or 
curses  me,  or  what  he  likes." 


The  dash  and  go  of  the  party  of  great  swarthy, 
black-haired  fellows,  in  their  blue  jerseys  and  great 
boots,  was  completely  evaporated  as  they  reached 
the  church,  Tom  Jennen  being  the  only  one  who 
spoke,  after  screwing  himself  up. 

"  Stand  'em  down  here,  lads,"  he  said  ;  and  the 
baskets,  with  their  beautiful  iridescent  freight  of 
mackerel,  were  placed  in  the  porch,  the  men  being 
glad  to  get  rid  of  their  loads  ;  and  their  next  idea 
was  to  hurry  away,  but  they  only  huddled  together 
in  a  group,  feeling  very  uncomfortable,  and  Tom 
Jennen  was  left  standing  quite  alone." 

"  I  arn't  afeard,"  he  said  to  himself ;  but  he  felt 
very  uncomfortable  all  the  same.  "  He'll  whack  me 
with  big  words,  that's  what  he'll  do,  but  tliey'll 
all  run  off  me  like  the  sea  water  off  a  shag's  back. 
I  arn't  feard  o'  he,  no  more'n  I  am  o'  Amos 
Pengelly ;  "  and,  glancing  back  at  his  mates,  he 
gave  a  rapping  to  the  church  door  with  a  penny 
piece  that  he  dragged  out  of  his  right-hand  pocket, 
just  as  if  it  had  been  a  counter,  and  he  was 
going  to  call  for  the  ale  he  meant  to  win. 

There  was  a  bit  of  a  tremor  ran  through  the 
group  of  brave-hearted,  stalwart  fishermen  at  this, 
just  as  if  they  had  had  an  electric  shock  ;  and  the 
men  who  would  risk  their  lives  in  the  fiercest 
storms  felt  the  desire  to  run  off  stronger  than  ever, 
like  a  pack  of  mischievous  boys ;  but  not  one 
stirred. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Miss  Pavey,  who  was 
hot  and  flushed,  and  who  had  a  great  sheaf  of  oats 
in  one  hand  and  a  big  pair  of  scissors  in  the  other, 
while  the  opening  door  gave  the  fishermen  a  view 
of  the  interior  of  the  little  church,  bright  with 
flowers  in  pot  and  bunch,  while  sheaves  of  corn, 
wreaths  of  evergreens,  and  artistically-piled-up 
masses  of  fruits  and  vegetables  produced  an  effect 
very  different  to  that  imagined  by  the  rough,  sea- 
faring men,  who  took  a  step  forward  to  stare  at 
the  unusual  sight. 

Miss  Pavey  dropped  her  big  scissors,  which  hung 
from  her  waist  by  a  stout  white  cotton  cord, 
something  like  a  friar's  girdle  ;  and  as  her  eyes  fell 
from  the  rough  fishermen  to  the  great  baskets  of 
fish,  she  uttered  the  one  word — 

"  My ! " 

"Here,  I  want  parson,  miss,"  growled  Tom 
Jennen,  setting  his  teeth,  and  screwing  his  maho- 
gany-brown face  into  a  state  of  rigid  determination. 

"  Hallo,  my  lads,  what  have  you  got  here  1 "  said 
a  cheery  voice,  as  Geoffrey  Trethick  strode  up. 

"  Fish  !  Can't  yer  see  1 "  growled  Tom  Jennen, 
defiantly. 

"  Here — here  are  the  fishermen,  Mr.  Lee,"  fal- 
tered Miss  Pavey ;  and,  looking  flushed  with 
exertion,  and  bearing  a  great  golden  orange 
pumpkin  in  his  arms,  the  Reverend  Edward  Lee 
came  to  the  door,  laid  the  pumpkin  where  it  was 
to  form  the  base  of  a  pile  of  vegetables,  and  then, 


328 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


with  his  glasses  glimmering  and  shining,  he  stood 
framed  in  the  Gothic  doorway,  with  Miss  Pavey 
and  GeotFrey  on  either  side,  both  looking  puzzled, 
Tom  Jennen  and  the  fish  in  the  porch,  and  the 
group  of  swarthy,  blue-jerseyed  fishers  grouped 
behind. 
Now  was  the  time  for  the  tongue-thrashing  to 


offence,  no  look  of  injured  pride,  and,  above  all, 
no  roar  of  laughter  from  his  assembled  mates. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  vicar  looked  at  the 
offering,  and  the  idea  of  incongruity  struck  him, 
but  no  thought  of  the  men  perpetrating  a  joke 
against  his  harvest  festival.  The  next  moment  a 
rapt  look  seemed  to  cross  his  face,  and  he  took  off 


"  He  stretched  his  hands  involttntarilt  over  the  fish."     (Draicnhy  Gordon  Browne.) 


come  in,  and  the  roar  of  laughter  from  the  fisher- 
men, who  had  given  up  all  hopes  of  winning  the 
ale,  but  who  were  willing  enough  to  pay  for  the 
fun  of  seeing  "  parson's  "  looks  and  Tom  Jennen's 
thrashing,  especially  as  they  would  afterwards  all 
join  in  a  carouse  and  help  to  drink  the  ale. 

"  Brought  you  some  fish  for  your  deckyrations, 
parson,"  roared  Tom  Jennen,  who  had  screwed  his 
courage  up,  and,  as  he  told  himself,  won  the  bet. 

There  was  no  answer,  no  expostulation,  no  air  of 


his  glasses,  looking  straight  before  him  as  visions 
of  the  pa.st  floated  to  his  mind's  eye.  To  him, 
then,  the  bright  bay  behind  the  group  suggested 
blue  Galilee,  and  he  thought  of  the  humble  fisher- 
folk  who  followed  his  great  Master's  steps,  and  the 
first  fruits  of  the  harvest  of  the  sea  became  holy 
in  his  eyes. 

Geoffrey  Trethick  looked  at  him  wonderingly, 
and  Miss  Pavey  felt  a  something  akin  to  awe  as 
she  watched  the  young  hero  of  her  thoughts,  with 


rHE   STORY    OF   A   GRIDIRON. 


329 


tears  in  her  eyes  ;  while  he,  with  a  slight  huski- 
ness  in  his  voice,  as  he  believed  that  at  last  he 
was  moving  the  hearts  of  these  rough,  stubborn 
people,  said  simply — 

"  I  thank  you,  my  men,  for  your  generous  offer- 
ing," and  he  stretched  his  hands  involuntarily  over 
the  fish ;  "  God's  blessing  in  the  future  be  upon 
you  when  you  cast  your  nets,  and  may  He  pre- 
serve you  from  the  perils  of  the  sea." 

"Amen  !  "  exclaimed  a  loud  voice  from  behind. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Amos  Pengelly,  who  had 
stood  there  unobserved  :  and  then  there  was  utter 
silence,  as  the  vicar  replaced  his  glasses,  little 
thinking  that  his  demeanour  and  few  simple  words 
had  done  more  towards  winning  over  the  rough 
fishermen  before  him  than  all  his  previous  efforts 
or  a  year  of  preaching  would  have  done. 

"  I'm  very  glad,"  he  said,  smiling,  and  holding 
out  his  hand, to  Tom  Jennen,  who  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  and  then  gave  his  great  horny  paw  a  rub 
on  both  sides  against  his  flannel  trousers  before 
giving  the  delicate  womanly  fingers  a  tremendous 
squeeze. 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you,"  continued  the  vicar, 
passing  Jennen,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  each 
of  the  fishermen  in  turn,  hesitating  for  a  moment 
as  he  came  to  Amos  Pengelly,  the  unhallowed 
usurper  of  the  holy  office  of  the  priest ;  but  he 
shook  hands  with  him  warmly,  beaming  upon  him 
through  his  glasses,  while  the  men  stood  as  solemn 
as  if  about  to  be  ordered  for  execution,  and  so 
taken  aback  at  the  way  in  which  their  off'ering 
had  been  received  that  not  one  dared  gaze  at  the 
other. 


"Mr.  Trethick,  would  you  mind?'  said  the 
vicar,  apologetically,  as  he  stooped  to  one  handle 
of  the  finest  basket  of  mackerel.  "  How  beautiful 
they  look." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Geoffrey,  who  took  the 
other  handle,  and  they,  between  them,  bore  the 
overflowing  basket  up  to  the  foot  of  the  lectern. 

"  We'll  make  a  pile  of  them  here,"  exclaimed 
the  vicar,  whose  face  was  flushed  with  pleasure  ; 
and,  setting  the  basket  down,  they  returned  for 
another.  Miss  Pavey,  scissors  in  hand,  once  more 
keeping  guard  at  the  door. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  he  continued.  "  I  wanted  some- 
thing by  the  reading  desk,  and  these  fish  are  so 
appropriate  to  our  town." 

"  Let  s  go  and  get  the  parson  ten  times  as  many, 
lads,"  cried  Tom  Jennen,  excitedly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  vicar,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  rough  fellow's  sleeve  ;  "  thei'e  are  plenty  here. 
It  is  not  the  quantity,  my  lads,  but  the  way  in 
which  the  offering  is  made." 

There  was  an  abashed  .'  ilence  once  more 
amongst  the  guilty  group,  which  was  broken  by 
the  vicar  saying — 

"  Will  you  come  in  and  see  what  we  hava  done  % " 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  and  a  very 
sheepish  look,  but  as  the  head  sheep,  in  the  person 
of  Tom  Jennen,  took  off  his  rough  cap,  stooped, 
and  lifted  a  basket  and  went  in  on  tip-toe,  the  rest 
followed,  their  heavy  boots,  in  spite  of  their  efforts, 
clattering  loudly  on  the  red  and  black-tiled  floor, 
while  the  vicar  took  from  them  with  his  own  hands 
the  remainder  of  the  fish,  and  placed  them  round 
the  desk. 


THE    STOEY    OF    A    GEIDIEON.* 

[By  Samuel  Lover.] 


CERTAIN  old  gentleman  in  the  west 
of  Ireland,  whose  love  of  the  ridiculous 
quite  equalled  his  taste  for  claret  and 
fox-hunting,  was  wont,  upon  certain 
festive  occasions  when  opportunity  offered 
to  amuse  his  friends  by  "  drawing  out "  one 
of  his  servants  who  was  exceedingly  fond 
of  what  he  termed  his  "  thravels,"  and  in  whom  a 
good  deal  of  whim,  some  queer  stories,  and, 
perhaps  more  than  all,  long  and  faithful  services, 
had  established  a  right  of  loquacity.  He  was  one 
of  those  few  trusty  and  privileged  domestics  who, 
if  his  master  unheedingly  uttered  a  rash  thing  in  a 
fit  of  passion,  would  Venture  to  set  him  right.  If 
the  squire  said,  "I'll  turn  that  rascal  off,"  my 
friend  Pat  would  say,  "Throth  you  won't,  sir;" 


and  Pat  was  always  right,  for  if  any  altercation 
arose  upon  the  subject-matter  in  hand,  he  was 
sure  to  throw  in  some  good  reason,  either  from 
former  service — general  good  conduct — or  the 
delinquent's  "wife  and  childher,"  that  always 
turned  the  scale. 

But  I  am  digressing  ;  on  such  merry  meetings 
as  I  have  alluded  to,  the  master,  after  making 
certain  "approaches,"  as  a  military  man  would 
say,  as  the  preparatory  steps  in  laying  siege  to 
some  extravaganza  of  his  servant,  might  perchance 
assail  Pat  thus  :  "  By-the-by,  Sir  John  "  (address- 
ing a  distinguished  guest),  "  Pat  has  a  very  curious 
story,  which  something  you  told  me  to-day 
reminds  me  of.  You  remember,  Pat  "  (turning  to 
the  man,  evidently  pleased  at  the  notice  paid  to 


2  P 


By  permission  of  Messrs.  George  Boutledge  and  Sons. 


330 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


himself) — "you  remember  that  queer  adventure 
you  had  in  France  1 " 

"  Throth  I  do,  sir,"  grins  forth  Pat. 

"  What ! "  exclaims  Sir  John,  in  feigned  surprise, 
"  was  Pat  ever  in  France  1 " 

"  Indeed  he  was,"  cries  mine  host ;  and  Pat 
adds,  "Ay,  and  farther,  plaze  your  honour." 

"I  assure  you.  Sir  John,"  continues  my  host, 
"  Pat  told  me  a  story  once  that  surprised  me  very 
much,  respecting  the  ignorance  of  the  French." 

"  Indeed  ! "  rejoins  the  baronet ;  "  really,  I 
always  supposed  the  French  to  be  a  most  accom- 
plished people." 

"Throth  then,  they  are  not,  sir,"  interrupts 
Pat. 

"  Oh,  by  no  means,"  adds  mine  host,  shaking 
his  head  emphatically. 

"I  believe,  Pat,  'twas  when  you  were  crossing 
the  Atlantic  1 "  says  the  master  turning  to  Pat 
with  a  seductive  air,  and  leading  into  the  "full 
and  true  account "  (for  Pat  had  thought  lit  to  visit 
"  North  Amerikay,"  for  a  "  raison  he  had  "  in  the 
autumn  of  the  year  '98). 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  Pat,  "  the  broad  Atlantic  " — a 
favourite  phrase  of  his,  which  he  gave  with  a 
brogue  as  broad  almost  as  the  Atlantic  itself. 

"  It  was  the  time  I  was  lost  in  crassin'  the  broad 
Atlantic,  comin'  home,"  began  Pat,  decoyed  into 
the  recital ;  "  whin  the  winds  began  to  blow,  and 
the  sae  to  rowl,  that  you'd  think  the  Colleen  dhas 
(that  was  her  name)  would  not  have  a  mast  left 
but  what  would  rowl  out  of  her. 

"  Well,  sure  enough,  the  masts  went  by  the 
board  at  last,  and  the  pumps  was  choak'd  (divil 
choak  them  for  that  same),  and  av  coorse  the 
wather  gained  an  us,  and  throth,  to  be  filled  with 
wather  is  neither  good  for  man  or  baste  ;  and  she 
was  sinkin'  fast,  settlin'  down,  as  the  sailors  calls 
it,  and  faith  I  never  was  good  at  settlin'  down  in 
my  life,  and  I  liked  it  then  less  nor  ever  ;  accord- 
ingly we  prepared  for  the  worst,  and  put  out  the 
boat,  and  got  a  sack  o'  bishkits,  and  a  cashk  o' 
pork,  and  a  kag  o'  wather,  and  a  thrifle  o'  rum 
aboord,  and  any  other  little  matthers  we  could 
think  iv  in  the  mortial  hurry  we  wor  in — and, 
faith,  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  for  my  darlint 
the  Colleen  clhas,  went  down  like  a  lump  o'  lead, 
afore  we  wor  many  sthrokes  o'  the  oar  away  from 
her. 

"Well,  we  dhrifted  away  all  that  night,  and 
next  mornin'  we  put  up  a  blanket  and  the  ind  av 
a  pole  as  well  as  we  could,  and  thin  we  sailed 
illigant,  for  we  dam't  show  a  stitch  o'  canvas  the 
night  before,  beka.se  it  was  blowin'  like  murther, 
sa\an'  your  presence,  and  sure  it's  the  wondher 
of  the  world  we  worn't  swally'd  alive  by  the  ragin' 
sae. 

"  Well,  away  we  wint  for  more  nor  a  week,  and 
nothin'  before  our  two  good-looking  eyes  but  the 


canophy  iv  heaven,  and  the  wide  ocean — the 
broad  Atlantic — not  a  thing  was  to  be  seen  but 
the  sae  and  the  sky  ;  and  though  the  sae  and  the 
sky  is  mighty  purty  things  in  themselves,  throth 
they're  no  great  things  whin  you've  nothin'  else  to 
look  at  for  a  week  together — and  the  barest  rock 
in  the  world,  so  it  was  land,  would  be  more 
welkim.  And  then,  sure  enough,  throth,  our 
provisions  began  to  run  low,  the  bishkits,  and  the 
wather,  and  the  rum — throth  that  was  gone  first 
of  all,  God  help  uz — and  oh !  it  was  thin  that 
starvation  began  to  stare  us  in  the  face — '  Oh, 
murther,  murther,  captain,  darlint ! '  says  I,  '  I 
wish  we  could  see  land  anywhere,'  says  I. 

"  '  More  power  to  your  elbow,  Paddy,  my  boy,' 
says  he,  *  for  sich  a  good  wish,  and  throth,  it's 
myself  wishes  the  same.' 

" '  Oh,'  says  I,  '  that  it  may  plaze  you,  sweet 
queen  in  heaven,  supposing  it  was  only  a  dissolute 
island,'  says  I,  'inhabited  wid  Turks,  sure  they 
wouldn't  be  such  bad  Christians  as  to  refuse  uz  a 
bit  and  a  sup.' 

"  '  Whisht,  whisht,  Paddy  ! '  says  the  captain, 
'don't  be  talkin'  bad  of  any  one,'  says  he  ;  'you 
don't  know  how  soon  you  may  want  a  good  woi'd 
put  in  for  yourself,  if  you  should  be  called  to 
quarthers  in  th'  other  world  all  of  a  suddent,'  says 
he. 

'"Thrue  for  you,  captain,  darlint,'  says  I — I 
called  him  Darlint,  and  made  free  wid  him,  you 
see,  bekase  disthress  makes  uz  all  equal — 'thrue 
for  you,  captain,  jewel — God  betune  uz  and  harm, 
I  owe  no  man  any  spite ' — and  throth,  that  was 
only  thruth.  Well,  the  last  bishkit  was  sarved 
out,  and  by  gor  the  wather  itself  was  all  gone  at 
last,  and  we  passed  the  night  mighty  cowld.  Well, 
at  the  brake  o'  day,  the  sun  riz  most  beautiful  out 
o'  the  waves,  that  was  as  bright  as  silver  and  as 
clear  as  cryshthal.  But  it  was  only  the  more  crule 
upon  uz,  for  we  wor  beginnin'  to  feel  terrible 
hungry ;  when  all  at  wanst  I  thought  I  spied 
the  land — I  thought  I  felt  my  heart  up  in  my 
throat  in  a  minnit,  and  '  Thundher  and  turf, 
captain,'  says  I,  '  look  to  leeward,'  says  I. 

"  '  What  for  ? '  says  he. 

" '  I  think  I  see  the  land,'  says  I.  So  he  ups 
with  his  bring-um-near  (that's  what  the  sailors 
call  a  spy-glass,  sir)  and  looks  out,  and,  sure 
enough,  it  was. 

"  '  Hurra  ! '  says  he, '  we're  all  right  now  ;  pull 
away,  my  boys,'  says  he. 

" '  Take  care  you're  not  mistaken,'  says  I ; 
'maybe  it's  only  a  fog-bank,  captain,  darlint,' 
says  I. 

"  '  Oh  no,'  says  he  ;  '  it's  the  land  in  airnest.' 

" '  Oh,  then,  wherebouts  in  the  wide  world  are 
we,  captain  1 '  says  I ;  '  maybe  it  id  be  in  Roosia 
or  Proosia,  or  the  German  Oceant,'  says  I. 

" '  Tut,   you  fool,'  says  he — for    he  had    that 


THE    STORY   OF   A   GRIDIRON.  . 


331 


consaited  way  wid  him,  thinkin'  himself  cleverer 
nor  any  one  else — '  that's  France,'  says  he. 

"  '  Tare  an  ouns,'  says  I,  '  do  you  tell  me  so  1 
and  how  do  you  know  it's  France  it  is,  captain, 
dear  1 '  says  I. 

"  Bekase  this  is  the  Bay  o'  Bishky  we're  in  now,' 
says  he. 

"  '  Throth,  I  was  thinkin'  so  myself,'  says  I,  '  by 
the  rowl  it  has  ;  for  I  often  heerd  av  it  in  regard 
o'  the  same  ; '  and  throth,  the  likes  av  it  I  never 
seen  before  nor  since,  and,  with  the  help  o'  God, 
never  Avill. 

"  Well,  with  that  my  heart  began  to  grow  light, 
and  when  I  seen  my  life  was  safe,  I  began  to  grow 
twice  hungrier  nor  ever — so  says  I,  '  Captain, 
jewel,  I  wish  we  had  a  gridiron.' 

"  '  Why  then,'  says  he,  '  thundher  and  turf,'  says 
he, '  what  puts  a  gridiron  in  your  head  1 ' 

"  Bekase  I'm  starvin'  with  the  hunger,'  says  I. 

"And  sure,  bad  luck  to  you,'  says  he,  'you 
couldn't  ate  a  gridiron,'  says  he,  '  barrin'  you  wor 
a  pelican  o'  the  wilderness,'  says  he. 

" '  Ate  a  gridiron  ! '  says  I ;  '  och,  in  throth,  I'm 
not  such  a  gommoch  all  out  as  that,  anyhow.  But 
sure  if  we  had  a  gridiron  we  could  dress  a  beef- 
steak,' says  I. 

" '  Arrah  !  but  where's  the  beef-steak  1 '  says 
he. 

" '  Sure,  couldn't  we  cut  a  slice  aff  the  pork  1 ' 
says  I. 

"'By  gor,  I  never  thought  o'  that,'  says  the 
captain.  '  You're  a  clever  fellow,  Paddy,'  says 
he,  laughin'. 

" '  Oh,  there's  many  a  thrue  word  said  in  joke,' 
says  I. 

"  '  Thrue  for  you,  Paddy,'  says  he. 

" '  Well,  thin,'  says  I,  '  if  you  put  me  ashore 
there  beyant '  (for  we  were  nearin'  the  land  all  the 
time),  '  and  sure  I  can  ask  thim  for  to  lind  me  the 
loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I. 

" '  Oh,  by  gor,  the  butther's  comin'  out  o'  the 
stairabout  in  airnest  now,'  says  he ;  '  you  gom- 
moch,' says  he,  '  sure  I  towld  you  before  that's 
France — and  sure  they're  all  furriners  there,'  says 
the  captain. 

" '  Well,'  says  I, '  and  how  do  you  know  but  I'm 
as  good  a  furriner  myself  as  any  o'  thim.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mane  ? '  says  he. 

" '  I  mane,'  says  I, '  what  I  told  you,  that  I'm  as 
good  a  furriner  myself  as  any  o'  thim.' 

" '  Make  me  sinsible,'  says  he. 

"  '  Bedad,  maybe  that's  more  nor  me,  or  greater 
nor  me,  could  do,'  says  I — and  we  all  began  to 
laugh  at  him,  for  I  thought  I'd  pay  him  off  for  his 
bit  o'  consait  about  the  German  Oceant. 

" '  Lave  aff  your  humbuggin','  says  he,  '  I  bid 
you,  and  tell  me  what  it  is  you  mane  at  all  at 
all.' 

"  *  Parly  voo  frongsay,^  says  I. 


"  '  Oh,  your  humble  servant,'  says  he.  '  Why, 
you're  a  scholar,  Paddy.' 

" '  Throth,  you  may  say  that,'  says  I. 

" '  Why,  you're  a  clever  fellow,  Paddy,'  says  the 
captain,  jeerin'  like. 

•' '  You're  not  the  first  that  said  that,'  says  I, 
*  whether  you  joke  or  no.' 

'"Oh,  but  I'm  in  airnest,'  says  the  captain — 
'and  do  you  tell  me,  Paddy,'  says  he,  'that  you 
spake  Frinch  ] ' 

'"  Parly  voo  fromjsay^  says  I. 

"  'Well,  that  bangs  Banagher.  I  never  met  the 
likes  o'  you,  Paddy,'  says  he.  '  Pull  away,  boys^ 
and  put  Paddy  ashore.' 

"  So  with  that,  it  was  no  sooner  said  nor  done— 
they  pulled  away  and  got  close  into  the  shore  in 
less  than  no  time,  and  run  the  boat  up  in  a  little 
creek  ;  and  a  beautiful  creek  it  was,  with  a  lovely 
white  sthrand,  an  illigant  place  for  ladies  to  bathe 
in  the  summer — and  out  I  got ;  and  it's  stiff 
enough  in  my  limbs  I  was  afther  bein'  cramped 
up  in  the  boat,  and  perished  with  the  cowld  and 
hunger  ;  but  I  conthrived  to  scramble  on,  one 
way  or  the  other,  tow'rds  a  little  bit  iv  a  wood 
that  was  close  to  the  shore,  and  the  smoke  curlin' 
out  of  it,  quite  timptin'  like. 

"  '  By  the  povvdhers  o'  war,  I'm  all  right,'  says 
I ;  '  there's  a  house  there  '—and  sure  enough  there 
was,  and  a  parcel  of  men,  women,  and  childher,, 
ating  their  dinner  round  a  table  quite  convenient. 
And  so  I  wint  up  to  the  dure,  and  I  thought  I'd 
be  very  civil  to  thim,  as  I  heerd  the  Frinch  wast 
always  mighty  p'lite  intirely — and  I  thought  I'd 
show  them  I  knew  what  good  manners  was. 

"  So  I  took  off  my  hat,  and  making  a  low  bow, 
says  I,  '  God  save  all  here,'  says  I. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  they  all  stopt  ating  at  wanst,. 
and  began  to  stare  at  me,  and  faith  they  almost 
looked  me  out  of  countenance — and  I  thought  to 
myself  it  was  not  good  manners  at  all — more  be 
token  from  furriners,  which  they  call  so  mighty 
p'lite ;  but  I  never  minded  that,  in  regard  of 
wantin'  a  gridiron ;  '  and  so,'  says  I,  '  I  beg  your 
pardon,'  says  I,  'for  the  liberty  I  take,  but  it's- 
only  bein'  in  disthress  in  regard  of  ating,'  says  I, 
'  that  I  make  bowld  to  throuble  yez,  and  if  you 
could  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  '  I'd 
be  intirely  obleeged  to  ye.' 

"They  all  stared  at  me  twice  worse  nor  be- 
fore, and  with  that,  says  I  (knowing  what  was 
in  their  minds),  'Indeed  it's  thrue  for  you,'  says  I  ; 
'  I'm  tatthered  to  pieces,  and  God  knows  I  look 
quare  enough,  but  it's  by  raison  of  the  storm,'  says 
I,  '  which  dhruv  us  ashore  here  below,  and  we're 
all  starvin','  says  I. 

"So  thin  they  began  to  look  at  each  other 
agin,  and  myself,  seeing  at  wanst  dirty  thoughts 
was  in  their  heads,  and  that  they  tuk  me  for  a 
poor  beggar  comin'  to  crave  charity — with  that, 


332 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


says  I,  '  Oh  !  not  at  all,'  says  I,  '  by  no  manes  ;  we 
have  plenty  o'  mate  ourselves,  there  below,  and 
we'll  dhress  it,'  says  I, '  if  you  would  be  plazed  to 
lind  us  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  makin'  a  low 
bow. 

"  Well  sir,  with  that  throth  they  stared  at  me 
twice  worse  nor  ever,  and  faith  I  began  to  think 
that  maybe  the  captain  was  wrong,  and  that  it  was 
not  France  at  all  at  all — and  so  says  I,  'I  beg 
pardon  sir,'  says  I,  to  a  fine  ould  man,  with  a  head 
of  hair  as  white  as  silver — *  maybe  I'm  undher  a 


" '  Well,  sir,  the  ould  chap  begun  to  munseer  me, 
but  the  divil  a  bit  of  a  gridiron  he'd  gie  me  ;  and 
so  I  began  to  think  they  were  all  neygars,  for  all 
their  fine  manners  ;  and  throth  my  blood  began  to 
rise,  and  says  I,  '  By  my  sowl,  if  it  was  you  was  in 
disthress,'  says  I, '  and  if  it  was  to  ould  Ireland  you 
kem,  it's  not  only  the  gridiron  they'd  give  you  if 
you  ax'd  it,  but  something  to  put  an  it  too,  and  a 
dlirop  of  dhrink  into  the  bargain,  and  cead  mille 
failte.' 

"  Well,   the  word   cead  mille  failte  seemed  to 


'"Would  tou  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiros?"  sats  I."    (Drawn  by  if.  StreM ., 


mistake,'  says  I,  *  but  I  thought  I  was  in  France, 
sir  ;  aren't  you  furriners  1 '  says  I — '  Parly  voo 
frongsay  ? ' 

*' '  We,  munseer,'  says  he. 

" '  Then  would  you  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  grid- 
iron,' says  I, '  if  you  plaze  I ' 

"  Oh,  it  was  thin  that  they  stared  at  me  as  if  I 
had  siven  heads ;  and  faith  myself  began  to  feel 
flusthered  like,  and  onaisy-  and  so  says  I,  making 
a  bow  and  scrape  agin,  'I  znow  it's  a  liberty  I 
take,  sir,.'  says  I,  'but  it's  only  in  the  regard  of 
bein'  cast  away,  and  if  you  plaze  sir,'  says  I, '  Parly 
TOO  frongsay  ?' 

**  ^^'e,  munseer,'  says  he.  mighty  sharp. 

*' '  Then  would  you  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  giid- 
iron  ] '  says  I, '  and  you'll  obleege  me.' 


sthreck  his  heart,  and  the  ould  chap  cocked  his 
ear,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  give  him  another  offer, 
and  make  him  sinsible  at  last ;  and  so  says  I, 
wanst  more,  quite  slow,  that  he  might  undher- 
stand — Parly — voo— frongsay,  munseer  1 ' 

" '  We,  munseer,'  says  he. 

"  '  Then  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  Ij 
*  and  bad  scran  to  you.' 

"  Well,  bad  win'  to  the  bit  of  it  he'd  gi'  me,  and 
the  ould  chap  begins  bowin'  and  scrapin',  and  said 
something  or  other  about  a  long  tongs. 

" '  Phoo  !  the  divil  sweep  yourself  and  your 
tongs,'  says  I,  '  I  don't  want  a  tongs  at  all  at  all ; 
but  can't  you  listen  to  raison  ] '  says  I—'  Parly 
voo  frongsay  ? ' 

" '  We,  munseer' 


THE   VISION   OF   THE   MAID   OF   ORLEANS. 


333 


" '  Then  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I, 
'and  howld  your  prate.' 

"  Well,  what  would  you  think  but  he  shook  his 
owld  noddle,  as  much  as  to  say  he  wouldn't ;  and 
so  says  I,  '  Bad  cess  to  the  likes  o'  that  I  ever  seen 
— throth  if  you  were  in  my  country,  it's  not  that- 
a-way  they'd  use  you ;  the  curse  o'  the  crows  on 
you,  you  owld  sinner,'  says  I,  '  the  divil  a  longer 
I'll  darken  your  dure.' 

"  So  he  seen  I  was  vex'd,  and  I  thought  as  I 
was  turnin'  away,  I  see  him  begin  to  reliht,  and 
that  his  conscience  troubled  him  ;  and  says  I, 
turnin'  back,  '  Well,  I'll  give  you  one  chance  more 
— you  owld  thief — are  you  a  Christian  at  all  at 
all^  are  you  a  furriner,'  says  1,  'that  all  the  world 


calls  so  p'lite  1  Bad  luck  to  you,  do  you  undher- 
stand  you  own  language  1 — Farly  voo  frongsay  ? ' 
says  I. 

" '  We,  munseer,'  says  he. 

" '  Then  thundher  and  turf,'  says  I,  '  wiU  you 
lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron  1 ' 

''  Well,  sir,  the  divil  resave  the  bit  of  it  he'd  f^i' 
me — and  so  with  that, '  the  curse  o'  the  hungry  on 
you,  you  owld  negardly  villain,'  says  I  :  '  the  back 
o'  my  hand  and  the  sowl  o'  my  foot  to  you ;  that 
you  may  want  a  gridiron  yourself  yet,'  says  I  ; 
'  and  wherever  I  go,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor, 
shall  hear  o'  you,'  says  I ;  and  with  that  I  lift  them 
there,  sir,  and  kem  away — and  in  throth  it's  often 
since  that  /  thought  that  it  vxts  remarhahle." 


THE    VISION    OF    THE    MAID    OF    ORLEANS. 

[By  Egbert  Southet.] 


il  L  E  A  N"  S    was    husli'd    in    sleep. 

Stretch'd  on  her  couch 
The  delegated  Maiden  lay ;  with  toil 
Exhausted,  and  sore  anguish,  soon  she 
closed 

Her  heavy  eyelids,  not  reposing  then, 
For  busy  phantasy  in  other  scenes 
Awaken'd  :  whether  that  superior  powers, 
By  wise  permission,  prompt  the  midnight  dream, 
Instructing  best  the  passive  faculty  ; 
Or  that  the  soul,  escaped  its  fleshy  clog. 
Flies  free,  and  soars  amid  the  invisible  world, 
And  all  things  are  that  seem. 

Along  a  moor, 
Barren,  and  wide,  and  drear,  and  desolate. 
She  roam'd,   a  wanderer  through    the  cheerless 

night. 
Far  through  the  silence  of  the  unbroken  plain 
The   bittern's   boom  was  heard  ;    hoarse,   heavy, 

deep. 
It  made  accordant  music  to  the  scene. 
Black  clouds,  driven  fast  before  the  stormy  wind. 
Swept  shadowing  :  through  their  broken  folds  the 

moon 
Struggled  at  times  with  transitory  ray. 
And  made  the  moving  darkness  visible. 
And  now  arrived  beside  a  fenny  lake 
She  stands,  amid  whose  stagnate  waters,  hoarse 
The  long  reeds  rustled  to  the  gale  of  night. 
A  time-worn  bark  receives  the  maid,  impell'd 
By  powers  unseen  ;  then  did  the  moon  display 
Where  through  the  crazy  vessel's  yawning  side 
The  muddy  waters  oozed.    A  woman  guides, 
And  spreads    the  sail  before    the    wind,  which 

moan'd 
As  melancholy  mournful  to  her  ear 


As  ever  by  a  dungeon'd  wretch  was  heard 
Howling  at  evening  round  his  prison  towers. 
Wan  was  the  pilot's  countenance,  her  eyes 
Hollow,  and  her  sunk  cheeks  were  furrow'd  deep, 
Channell'd  by  tears !  a  few  grey  locks  hung  down 
Beneath  her   hood  :    and  through  the  maiden's 

veins 
Chill  crept  the  blood,  when,  as  the  night  breeze 

pass'd,  « 

Lifting  her  tattered  mantle,  coil'd  around 
She  saw  a  serpent  gnawing  at  her  heart. 

The  plumeless  bats  with  short  shrill  note  flit  by, 
And  the  night-raven's  scream  came  fitfully. 
Borne  on  the  hollow  blast.     Eager  the  Maid 
Look'd  to  the  shore,  and  now  upon  the  Ifank 
Leapt,  joyful  to  escape,  yet  trembling  still 
In  recollection. 

There,  a  mouldering.pile 
Stretch'd  its  wide  ruins,  o'er  the  plain  below 
Casting  a  gloomy  shade,  save  where  the  moon 
Shone  through  its  fretted  windows  :  the  dark  yew, 
Withering    with   age,    branch'd  there  its   nal.od 

roots, 
And  there  the  melancholy  cypress  rear'd 
Its  head ;    the  earth  was  heaved  with  many  a 

mound, 
And  here  and  there  a  half-demolish'd  tomb. 

And  now,  amid  the  ruin's  darkest  shade, 
The  virgin's  eye  beheld  where  pale  blue  flames 
Rose  wavering,  now  just  gleaming  from  the  earth, 
And  now  in  darkness  drown'd.     An  aged  man 
Sate  near,  seated  on  what  in  long-past  days 
Had  been  some  sculptured  monument,  now  fallen 
And  half  obscured  by  moss,  and  gather'd  heaps 


334 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


Of    wither'd    yew-leaves   and    earth-mouldering 

bones. 
His  eyes  were  large  and  rayless,  and  fix'd  full 
Upon  the  Maid  ;  the  tomb-fires  on  his  face 
Shed  a  blue  light  ;  his  face  was  of  the  hue 
Of  death  ;  his  limbs  were  mantled  in  a  shroud. 
Then  with  a  deep  heart-terrifying  voice, 
Exclaim'd  the  spectre,  "Welcome  to  these  realms. 
These  regions  of  despair,  O  thou  whose  steps 
Sorrow  hath  guided  to  my  sad  abodes  ! 
Welcome  to  my  drear  empire,  to  this  gloom 
Eternal,  to  this  everlasting  night. 
Where  never  morning  darts  the  enlivening  ray, 
Where  never  shines  the  sun,  but  all  is  dark. 
Dark  as  the  bosom  of  their  gloomy  king," 

So  saying,  he  arose,  and  dmwing  on, 
Her  to  the  abbey's  inner  ruin  led. 
Resisting  not  his  guidance.     Through  the  roof 
Ouci  fretted  and  emblazed,  but  broken  now 
In  part,  elsewhere  all  open  to  the  sky, 
The  moonbeams  enter'd,  chequer'd  here,  and  here 
.  With  unimpeded  light.     The  ivy  twined 
Round  the  dismantled  columns  ;  imaged  forms 
Of  saints  and  warlike  chiefs,  moss-canker'd  now 
And  mutilate,  lay  strewn  upon  the  ground, 
With  crumbled  fragments,  crucifixes  fallen, 
And  rusted  trophies.     Meantime  overhead 
Roar'd  the  loud  blast,  and  from  the  tower  the  owl 
Scream'd  as  the  tempest  shook  her  secret  nest. 
He,  silent,  led  her  on,  and  often  paused. 
And  pointed,  that  her  eye  might  contemplate 
At  leisure  the  drear  scene. 

He  dragg'd  her  on 
Through  a  low  iron  door,  down  broken  stairs  ; 
Then  a  cold  horror  through  the  Maiden's  frame 
Crept,  for  she  stood  amid  a  vault,  and  saw, 
By  the  sepulchral  lamp's  dim  glaring  light, 
The  fragments  of  the  dead. 

"  Look  here  ! "  he  cried, 
"  Damsel,  look  here  !  survey  this  house  of  death  ; 
O  soon  to  tenant  it ;  soon  to  increase 
These  trophies  of  mortality,    ...    for  hence 
Is  no  return.     Gaze  here  ;  behold  this  skull, 
These  eyeless  sockets,  and  these  unflesh'd  jaws, 
That  with  their  ghastly  grinning  seem  to  mock 
Thy  perishable  charms  ;  for  thus  thy  cheek 
Must  moulder.     Child  of  grief  !  shrinks  not  thy 

soul. 
Viewing  these  horrors  1  trembles  not  thy  heart 
At  the  dread  thought  that  here  its  life's  blood 

soon 
Shall  stagnate,  and  the  finely-fibred  frame 
Now  warm  in  life  and  feeling,  mingle  soon 
With  the  cold  clod  ]  thing  horrible  to  think, 
Yet  in  thought  only,  for  reality 
Is  none  of  suffering  here  ;  here  all  is  peace ; 
No  nerve  will  throb  to  anguish  in  the  grave. 
Dreadful  it  is  to  think  of  losing  life, 


But  having  lost,  knowledge  of  loss  is  not. 
Therefore  no  ill.     Oh,  wherefore  then  delay 
To  end  all  ills  at  once  ! " 

So  spake  Despair^ 
The  vaulted  roof  echoed  his  hollow  voice. 
And  all  again  was  silence.     Quick  her  heart 
Panted.     He  placed  a  dagger  in  her  hand, 
And  cried  again,  "  Oh,  wherefore  then  delay  [ 
One  blow,  and  rest  for  ever ! "     On  the  fiend 
Dark  scowled  the  virgin  with  indignant  eye. 
And  threw  the  dagger  down.     He  next  his  heart 
Replaced  the  murderous  steel,  and  drew  the  Maid 
Along  the  downward  vault. 

The  damp  earth  gave 
A  dim  sound  as  they  pass'd :  the  tainted  air 
Was  cold,  and  heavy  Avith  unwholesome  dews. 
"  Behold ! "  the  fiend  exclaim'd,  "  how  loathsomely 
The  fleshly  remnant  of  mortality 
Moulders  to  clay  !  "  then  fixing  his  broad  eye 
Full  on  her  face,  he  pointed  where  a  corpse 
Lay  livid  ;  she  beheld,  with  horrent  look, 
The  spectacle  abhorr'd  by  living  man. 

"  Look  here !  "  Despair  pursued,  "this  loathsoma 
naass 
Was  once  as  lovely  and  as  fidl  of  life 
As,  damsel,  tliou  art  now.     Those  deep-sunk  eyes 
Once  beam'd  the  mild  light  of  intelligence. 
And  where  thou  seest  the  pamper'd  flesh-worm 

trail, 
Once    the    white    bosom    heaved.      She    fondly 

thought 
That  at  the  hallowed  altar  soon  the  priest 
Should  bless  her  coming  union,  and  the  torch 
Its  joyful  lustre  o'er  the  hall  of  joy 
Cast  on  her  nuptial  evening  :  earth  to  earth 
That  priest  consign 'd  lier,  for  her  lover  went 
By  glory  lured  to  war,  and  perish'd  there  ; 
Nor  she  endured  to  live.     Ha  I  fades  thy  cheek  I 
Dost  thou  then,  Maiden,  tremble  at  the  tale  1 
Look  here  !  behold  the  youthful  paramour ! 
The  self -devoted  hero  ! " 

Fearfully 
The  ^laid  look'd  down,  and  saw  the  well-known 

face 
Of  Theodore.    In  thoughts  unspeakable, 
Convulsed  with  horror,  o'er  her  face  she  clasp'd 
Her  cold  damp  hands :  "  Shrink   not,"  the  phan- 
tom cried, 
"  Gaze  on  ! "  and  unrelentingly  he  grasp'd 
Her  quivering  arm  :  "this  lifeless  mouldering  clay. 
As  well  thou  know'st,  was  warm  with  all  the  glow 
Of  youth  and  love  ;  this  is  the  hand  that  cleft 
Proud  Salisbury's  crest,  now  motionless  in  death, 
Unable  to  protect  the  ravaged  frame 
From  the  foul  offspring  of  mortality 
That  feed  on  heroes.     Though  long  years  were 

thine 
Yet  never  more  would  life  reanimate 


THE   VISION   OF  THE   MAID    OF   ORLEANS. 


335 


This  slaughter'd  youth  ;  slaughtered  for  thee  !  for 

thou 
Didst  lead  him  to  the  battle  from  his  home, 
Where  else  he  had  survived  to  good  old  age  : 
In  thy  defence  he  died  :  strike,  then  !  destroy 
Remorse  with  life." 

The  Maid  stood  motionless, 
And,  wistless  what  she  did,  with  trembling  hand 
Received  the  dagger.     Startling  then,  she  cried, 
""  Avaunt,  Despair  !    Eternal  Wisdom  deals 
Or  peace  to  man,  or  misery,  for  his  good 
Alike  design'd  ;  and  shall  the  creature  cry, 
■'  Why  hast  thou  done  this  1 '  and  with  impious 

pride 
Destroy  the  life  God  gave  1 " 

The  fiend  rejoin'd, 
■"  And  thou  dost  deem  it  impious  to  destroy 
The  life  God  gave  1    What,  Maiden,  is  the  lot 
Assign 'd  to  mortal  man  1    born  but  to  drag, 
Through  life's  long  pilgrimage,  the  wearying  load 
Of  being  ;   care-corroded  at  the  heart ; 
Assail'd  by  all  the  numerous  train  of  ills 
That  flesh  inherits  ;    till  at  length  worn  out. 
This  is  his  consummation  ! — Think  again  ! 
What,  Maiden,  canst  thou  hope  from  lengthen'd 

life 
But  lengthen'd  sorrow  1      If  protracted  long, 
Till  on  the  bed  of  death  thy  feeble  limbs 
8tretch  out  their  languid  length,  oh  think  what 

thoughts. 
What  agonising  feelings,  in  that  hour. 
Assail  the  sinking  heart !   slow  beats  the  pulse, 
Dim  grows  the  eye,  and  clammy  drops  bedew 
The  shuddering  frame ;  then  in  its  mightiest  force. 
Mightiest  in  impotence,  the  love  of  life 
Seizes  the  throbbing  heart ;   the  faltering  lips 
Pour  out  the  impious  prayer  that  fain  would  change 
The  Uuchangeable's  decree  ;    surrounding  friends 
Sob  round  the  sufferer,  wet  his  cheeks  with  tears  ; 
And  all  he  loved  in  life  embitters  death. 

"  Such,  Maiden,  are  the  pangs  that  wait  the  hour 
Of  easiest  dissolution  !  yet  weak  man 
Resolves,  in  timid  piety,  to  live  ; 
And  veiling  fear  in  superstition's  garb, 
He  calls  her  resignation ! 

Coward  wretch  ! 
Fond  coward,  thus  to  make  his  reason  war 
Against  his  reason.     Insect  as  he  is. 
This  sport  of  chance,  this  being  of  a  day, 
Whose  whole  existence  the  next  cloud  may  blast, 
Believes  himself  the  care  of  heavenly  powers. 
That  God  regards  man,  miserable  man, 
And  preaching  thus  of  power  and  providence. 
Will  crush  the  reptile  that  may  cross  his  path  ! 

"Fool  that  thou  art !  the  Being  that  permits 
Existence,  gives  to  man  the  worthless  boon  : 
A  goodly  gift  to  those  who,  fortune-blest, 


Bask  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity. 
And  such  do  well  to  keep  it.     But  to  one 
Sick  at  the  heart  with  misery,  and  sore 
With  many  a  hard  unmerited  affliction, 
It  is  a  hair  that  chains  to  wretchedness 
The  slave  who  dares  not  burst  it ! 

Thinkest  thou 
The  parent,  if  his  child  should  unrecall'd 
Return  and  fall  upon  his  neck,  and  cry, 
'  Oh  !   the  wide  world  is  comfortless,  and  full 
Of  fleeting  joys  and  heart-consuming  cares, 
I  can  be  only  happy  in  my  home 
With   thee — my  friend;— my  father!'     Thinkesl 

thou 
That  he  would  thrust  him  *as  an  outcast  forth  1 
Oh  !    he  would  clasp  the  truant  to  his  heart. 
And  love  the  trespass.  " 

Whilst  he  spake,  his  eye 
Dwelt  on  the  Maiden's  cheek,  and  read  her  soul 
Struggling  within.     In  trembling  doubt  she  stood, 
Even  as  a  wretch,  whose  famish'd  entrails  crave 
Supply,  before  him  sees  the  poison 'd  food 
In  greedy  horror. 

Yet,  not  silent  long. 
"  Eloquent  tempter,  cease  !  "  the  Maiden  cried, 
"  What  though  affliction  be  my  portion  here, 
Thinkest  thou  I  do  not  feel  high  thoughts  of  joy, 
Of  heart-ennobling  joy,  when  I  look  back 
Upon  a  life  of  duty  well  perform'd. 
Then  lift  mine  eyes  to  heaven,  and  there  in  faith 
Know  my  reward  ?  .  .  .  I  grant,  were  this  life  all, 
Was  there  no  morning  to  the  tomb's  long  night. 
If  man  did  mingle  with  the  senseless  clod. 
Himself  as  senseless,  then  wert  thou  indeed 
A  wise  and  friendly  comforter  !  .  .  .  But,  fiend, 
There  is  a  morning  to  the  tomb's  long  night, 
A  dawn  of  glory,  a  reward  in  heaven. 
He  shall  not  gain  who  never  merited. 
If  thou  did'st  know  the  worth  of  one  good  deed 
In  life's  last  hour,  thou  would'st  not  bid  me  lose 
The  precious  privilege,  while  life  endures, 
To  do  my  Father's  will.    A  mighty  task 
Is  mine,  ...  a  glorious  call.     France  looks  to  me 
For  her  deliverance.  " 

*'  Maiden,  thou  hast  done 
Thy  mission  here,  "  the  unbaffled  fiend  replied  : 
"  The  foes  are  fled  from  Orleans  :  thou,  perchance 
Exulting  in  the  pride  of  victory, 
Forgottest  him  who  perish'd  ;  yet  albeit 
Thy  hardened  heart  forget  the  gallant  youth, 
That  hour  allotted  canst  thou  not  escape, 
That  dreadful  hour,  when  contumely  and  shame 
Shall  sojourn  in  thy  dungeon.     Wretched  maid  ! 
Destined  to  drain  the  cup  of  bitterness, 
Even  to  its  dregs,  .  .  .  England's  inhuman  chiefs 
Shall  scoff  thy  sorrows,  blacken  thy  pure  fame, 
Wit-wanton  it  with  lewd  barbarity, 
And  force  such  burning  blushes  to  the  cheek 
Of  virgin  modesty,  that  thou  shalt  wish 


336 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


The  earth  might  cover  tliee.     In  that  last  hour, 
When  thy  bruis'd  breast  shall  heave  beneath  the 

chains 
That  link  thee  to  the  stake,  a  spectacle 
For  the  brute  multitude,  and  thou  shalt  hear 
Mockery  more  painful  than  the  circling  flames 
Which  then  consume  thee  ;  wilt  thou  not  in  vain 
Tiien  wish  my  friendly  aid  ?  then  wish  thine  ear 
Had  drank  my  words  of  comfort  ?  that  thy  hand 
Had  grasp'd  the  dagger,  and  in  death  preserved 
Insulted  modesty  ? " 

Her  glowing  cheek 
Jjlush'd  crimson  ;  her  wide  eye  on  vacancy 
Was  fix'd ;  her  breath  short  jianted.     The  cold 

fiend, 
(Jmsping  her  liand,  exclaim'd,  "  Too  timid  Maid, 
80  long  repugnant  to  the  healing  aid 
My  friendship  proffers,  now  shalt  thou  behold 
The  allotted  length  of  life." 

He  stamp'd  the  earth, 
And  dragging  a  huge  coffin  as  his  car. 
Two  Ghouls  came  on,  of  form  more  fearful-foul 
Than  ever  palsied  in  her  wildest  dream 
Hag-ridden  Superstition.     Then  Despair 
Seized  on  the  Maid,  whose  curdling  blood  stood 

still. 
And  placed  her  in  the  seat,  and  on  they  pass'd 
Adown  the  deep  descent     A  meteor  light 
Shot  from  the  diEmons,  as  they  draggd  along 
The  unwelcome  load,  and  mark'd  their  brethren 

feast 
On  carcases. 

Below,  the  vault  dilates 
Its  ample  bulk.     "  Look  here  ! " — Despair  addrest 
The  shuddering  virgin,  "  see  the  dome  of  Death  ! " 
It  was  a  spacious  cavern,  hewn  amid 
The  entrails  of  the  earth,  as  though  to  form 
A  grave  for  all  mankind  :  no  eye  could  reach 
Its  distant  bounds.    There,  throned  in  darkness, 

dwelt 
The  unseen  power  of  Death. 

Here  stopt  the  Ghouls, 
lleaching  the  destined  spot.     The  fiend  stepped 

out, 
And  from  the  coffin  as  he  led  the  Maid, 
Exclaim'd,  "  Where  mortal  never  stood  before, 
Thou  standest :  look  around  this  boundless  vault ; 
Observe  the  dole  that  nature  deals  to  man. 
And  learn  to  know  thy  friend." 

She  answer'd  not, 
Observing  where  the  Fates  their  several  tasks 
Plied  ceaseless.     "  Mark  how  long  the  shortest 

«       web 
AHow'd  to  man  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  observe  how  soon, 
Twined    round    yon    never-resting    wheel,    they 

change 
Their  snowy   hue,    darkening    through    many  a 

shade, 
Till  Atropos  relentless  shuts  the  sheers. " 


Too  true  he  spake,  for  of  the  countless  threads, 
Drawn  from  the  heap,  as  white  as  unsunn'd  snow. 
Or  as  the  spotless  lily  of  the  vale, 
Was  never  one  beyond  the  little  span 
Of  infancy  untainted  ;  few  there  were 
But  lightly  tinged  ;  more  of  deep  crimson  hue. 
Or  deeper  sable  dyed.     Two  Genii  stood. 
Still  as  the  web  of  being  was  drawn  forth. 
Sprinkling  their  powerful  drops.     From  ebon  urn, 
The  one  unsparing  dash'd  the  bitter  drops 
Of  woe  ;  and  as  he  dash'd,  his  dark -brown  brow 
Eelax'd  to  a  hard  smile.     The  milder  form 
Shed  less  profusely  there  his  lesser  store  ; 
Sometimes  with  tears  increasing  the  scant  boon, 
C'ompassionating  man  ;  and  happy  he 
Who  on  his  thread  those  precious  tears  receives ; 
If  it  be  happiness  to  have  the  pulse 
That  throbs  Avith  pity,  and  in  such  a  world 
Of  wretchedness,  the  generous  heart  that  aches 
With  anguish  at  the  sight  of  human  woe. 


To  her  the  fiend,  well  hoping  now  success, 
"  This  is  thy  thread  ;  observe  how  short  the  span  • 
And  little  doth  the  evil  Genius  spare 
His  bitter  tincture  there.  "    The  Maiden  saw 
Calmly.  "  Now  gaze  ! "  the  tempter  fiend  exclaim'd, 
And  placed  again  the  poniard  in  her  hand. 
For  Superstition,  with  a  burning  torch, 
Approach'd  the  loom.     "  This,  damsel,  is  thy  fate  ! 
The  hour  draws  on — now  strike  the  dagger  home  ! 
Strike  now,  and  be  at  rest ! " 

The  maid  replied, 
"  Or  to  prevent  or  change  the  will  of  Heaven, 
Impious  I  strive  not  :  let  that  will  be  done  ! " 

She  spake,  and  lo  !  celestial  radiance  beam'd 
Amid  the  air,  such  odours  wafting  now 
As  erst  came  blended  with  the  evening  gale 
From  Eden's  bowers  of  bliss.     An  angel  form 
Stood  by  the  Maid  ;  his  wings,  ethereal  white, 
Flash'd  like  the  diamond  in  the  noontide  sun, 
Dazzling  her  mortal  eye  :  all  else  appear'd 
Her  Theodore. 

Amazed  she  saw  :  the  fiend 
Was  fled,  and  on  her  ear  the  well-known  voice 
Sounded,  though  now  more  musically  sweet 
Than  ever  yet  had  thrill'd  her  soul  attuned, 
When  eloquent  affection  fondly  told 
The  day-dreams  of  delight. 

"  Beloved  Maid  ! 
Lo  !  I  am  with  thee,  still  thy  Theodore  ! 
Hearts  in  the  holy  bands  of  love  combined, 
Death  has  no  power  to  sever.     Thou  art  mine  ! 
A  little  while  and  thou  shalt  dwell  with  me 
In  scenes  where  sorrow  is  not.     Cheerily 
Tread  thou  the  path  that  leads  thes  to  the  grave. 
Rough  though  it  be  and  painful,  for  the  grave 
Is  but  the  threshold  of  eternity." 


DRAWN   FOR   A    SOLDIER. 


37 


DEAWN     FOR     A     SOLDIER. 

"  Anna  Virumqiie  Canoe." 
[By  Thojias  Hood.] 


W^\.S  once— for  a  few  hours  only — in  the 
militia.  I  suspect  I  was  in  part  answerable 
for  my  own  mishap.  There  is  a  story  in 
Joe  Miller  of  a  man  who,  being  pressed  to 
serve  his  majesty  on  another  element, 
pleaded  his  polite  breeding,  to  the  gang,  as  a  good 
ground  of  exemption  ;  but  was  told  that  the  crew 
being  a  set  of  sad  unmannerly  dogs,  a  Chesterfield 
was  the  very  character  they  wanted.  The  militia- 
men acted,  I  presume,  on  the  same  principle.    Their 


cut  of  the  kingdom — "except  in  case  of  an  in- 
vasion." In  vain  I  represented  .that  we  were 
"  locals  ; "  they  had  heard  of  local  diseases,  and 
thought  there  might  be  wounds  of  the  same  descrip- 
tion. In  vain  I  explained  that  we  were  not  troops 
of  the  line  ; — they  could  see  nothing  to  choose 
between  being  shot  in  a  line,  or  in  any  other  figure. 
I  told  them  next  that  I  was  not  obliged  to  "  serve 
myself  ; " — but  they  answered,  "  'twas  so  much  the 
harder  I  should  be  obliged  to  serve  any  one  else." 


"  The  poor  sergeant  looked  foolish  enough." 


customary  schedule  was  forwarded  to  me,  at 
Brighton,  to  fill  up,  and  in  a  moment  of  incautious 
hilarity — induced,  perhaps,  by  the  absence  of  all 
business  or  employment,  except  pleasure — I  wrote 
myself  down  in  the  descriptive  column  as  "Quite 
a  Gentleman." 

The  consequence  followed  immediately.  A  pre- 
cept, addressed  by  the  High  Constable  of  West- 
minster to  the  Low  ditto  of  the  parish  of  St.  M — , 
and  endorsed  with  my  name,  informed  me  that  it 
had  turned  up  in  that  involuntary  lottery,  the  ballot. 

At  the  sight  of  the  orderly,  who  thought  proper 
to  deliver  the  document  into  no  other  hands  than 
mine,  my  mother-in-law  cried,  and  my  wife  fainted 
on  the  spot.  They  had  no  notion  of  any  distinctions 
in  military  service— a  soldier  was  a  soldier — and 
they  imagined  that,  on  the  very  morrow,  I  might 
be  ordered  abroad  to  a  fresh  Waterloo.  They 
were  unfortunately  ignorant  of  that  benevolent 
pro\'ision,  which  absolved  the  militia  from  going 
2  Q* 


My  being  sent  abroad,  they  said,  would  be  the  death 
of  them,  for  they  had  witnessed  at  Ramsgate  the 
embarkation  of  the  Walcheren  expedition,  and  too 
well  remembered  "  the  misery  of  the  soldiers'  wives 
at  seeing  their  husbands  in  tnmsjjorts  !  " 

I  told  them  that  at  the  very  worst,  if  I  should  be 
sent  abroad,  there  was  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
return  again  ; — but  they  both  declared,  they  never 
did  and  never  would  believe  in  those  "  Returns  of 
the  Killed  and  Wounded." 

The  discussion  was  in  this  stage  when  it  was 
interrupted  by  another  loud  single  knock  at  the 
door,  a  report  equal  in  its  effects  on  us  to  that  of 
the  memorable  cannon-shot  at  Brussels  ;  and  before 
we  could  recover  ourselves,  a  strapping  sergeant 
entered  the  parlour  with  a  huge  bow,  or  rather 
rainbow,  of  party-coloured  ribbons  in  his  cap.  He 
came,  he  said,  to  offer  a  substitute  for  me  ;  but  I 
was  prevented  from  reply  by  the  indignant  females 
asking  him  in  the  same  breath,  "  Who  and  What 


338 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


(.iid  he  think  could  l>e  a  substitute  for  a  son  and  a 
husband '? '' 

The  pool'  seruvant  looked  foolish  enough  at  this 
turn  :  but  he  was  still  more  abashed  when  the  two 
anxious  ladies  began  to  cross-examine  him  on  the 
length  of  his  services  abroad,  and  the  number  of 
his  wounds,  the  campaigns  of  the  militiamen  having 
been  confined  doiibtless  to  Hoiinslow,  and  his 
bodily  marks  militant  to  the  three  stripes  on  his 
sleeve.  Parrying  these  awkward  questions  he  en- 
deavoured to  prevail  upon  me  to  see  the  proposed 
proxy,  a  fine  yoiuig  fellow,  he  assured  me,  of  un- 
U!>ual  stature  ;  but  I  told  him  it  was  quite  an  in- 
difterent  point  with  me  whether  he  was  6-feet-2  or 
2-feet-6,  in  short,  whether  he  was  as  tall  as  the 
flog,  or  "  under  the  standard." 

The  truth  is,  I  reflected  that  it  was  a  time  of 
profound  peace,  that  a  civil  war  or  an  invasion  was 
very  unlikely  ;  and  as  for  an  occasitmal  drill,  that 
I  could  make  shift,  like  Lavater,  to  right-about- 
face. 

Accordingly,  I  decli;:ed  seeing  the  substitute,  and 
dismissed  the  sergeant  with  a  note  to  the  war- 
secretary  to  this  puri>ort — "  That  I  considered  my- 
self dravni,  and  expected   therefore  to  be  well 


quartvrd.  Tliat,  under  the  circumstances  of  the 
country,  it  would  probably  be  unnecessary  for 
militiamen  '  to  be  mustarded  ; '  but  that  if  his 
majesty  did  '  call  me  out '  I  hoped  I  should  '  give 
him  satisfaction.' " 

The  females  were  far  from  being  pleased  with 
this  billet.  They  talked  a  great  deal  of  moral 
suicide,  wilful  nuirder,  and  seeking  the  bubble 
reputation  in  the  cannon's  mouth  ;  but  I  shall  ever 
think  that  I  took  the  proper  course,  for,  after  the 
lapse  of  a  few  hours,  two  more  of  the  general's  red- 
coats, or  general  postmen,  brought  me  a  large  packet 
sealed  with  the  war-olRce  seal,  and  superscribed 
"Henry  Hardinge,"  by  which  I  was  officially 
absolved  from  serving  on  horse  or  on  foot,  or  on 
both  together,  then  and  thereafter. 

And  why,  T  know  not— unless  his  majesty 
doubted  the  handsomeness  of  discharging  me  in 
particular,  without  letting  off  the  rest ; — but  so  it 
was,  that  in  a  short  time  afterwards  there  issued  a 
proclamation  by  which  the  services  of  all  militia- 
men were  for  the  present  dispensed  with, — and  we 
were  left  to  pursue  our  several  avocations, — of 
course  all  the  lighter  in  our  sjnrits  for  being  dis- 
embodied. 


THE     RIBBONMAN. 

[By  William  Carleton.] 


night  was  stormy,  but  without 
rain ;  it  was  rather  dark  too,  though 
not  so  as  to  prevent  us  from  seeing 
the  clouds  careering  swiftly  through 
the  air.  The  dense  curtain  which  had 
overhunu  mi'I  obscured  the  horizon  was 
J^  now  broken,  and  large  sections  of  the  sky 
^  were  clear,  and  thinly  studded  with  stars 
that  looked  dim  and  watery,  as  did  indeed  the 
whole  firmament  ;  for  in  some  places  large  clouds 
were  still  visible,  threatening  a  continuance  of 
severe  tempestuous  weather.  The  road  appeared 
washed  and  gravelly,  every  dyke  was  full  of  yellow 
water,  and  each  little  rivulet  and  larger  stream 
dashed  its  hoarse  music  in  our  ears  ;  the  blast,  too, 
was  cold,  fierce,  and  wintry,  sometimes  driving  us 
back  to  a  stand-still,  and  again,  when  a  turn  in  the 
road  would  bring  it  in  our  backs,  whirling  us  along 
fop^'^-lew  steps  with  involuntary  rapidity.  At 
length  the  fated  dwelling  became  visible,  and  a 
short  eonsultation  was  held  in  a  sheltered  place 
between  the  captain  and  the  two  parties  who 
seemed  so  eager  for  its  destruction.  Their  fire- 
arms were  now  charged,  and  their  bayonets 
9nd  short  pikes,  the  latter  shod  and  pointed 
with    iron,    were    also    got    ready.      The     live 


coal  which  was  brought  in  the  small  pot  had 
become  extingui.shed ;  but  to  remedy  this  two  or 
three  persons  from  the  remote  parts  of  the  parish 
entered  a  cabin  on  the  wayside,  and,  under  pre- 
tence of  lighting  their  own  and  their  comrades' 
pipes,  procured  a  coal  of  fire,  for  so  they  called  a 
lighted  turf.  From  the  time  we  left  the  chapel 
until  this  moment  a  most  profound  silence  had 
been  maintained,  a  circumstance  which,  when  I 
considered  the  niunber  of  persons  present,  and  the 
mysterious  and  dreaded  object  of  their  journey, 
had  a  most  appalling  effect  upon  my  spirits. 

At  length  we  arrived  within  fifty  perches  of  the 
house,  walking  in  a  compact  body,  and  with  as 
little  noise  as  possible.  But  it  seemed  as  if  the 
very  elements  had  conspired  to  frustrate  our 
design  ;  for,  on  advancing  within  the  shade  of  the 
farm-hedge,  two  or  three  persons  found  themselves 
up  to  the  middle  in  water,  and  on  stooping  to 
ascertain  more  accurately  the  state  of  the  place, 
we  could  see  nothing  but  one  iirmense  sheet  of  it 
spread  like  a  lake  over  the  meadows  which  sur- 
rounded the  spot  we  wished  to  reach. 

Fatal  night  !  the  very  recollection  of  it,  when 
associated  with  the  fearful  tempest  of  the  elements^ 
grows,  if  that  were  possible,  yet  more  wild  and 


THE   RIBBON MAK 


339 


revolting.  Had  we  been  engaged  in  any 
innocent  or  benevolent  enterprise,  there  was 
something  in  our  situation  just  now  that  had  a 
touch  of  interest  in  it  to  a  mind  imbued  with  a 
relish  for  the  savage  beauties  of  nature.  There  we 
stood,  about  a  hundred  and  thirty  in  number, 
our  dark  forms  bent  forwards,  peering  into  the 
dusky  expanse  of  water,  with  its  dim  gleams  of 
reflected  light,  broken  by  the  weltering  of  the 
mimic  waves  into  ten  thousand  fragments,  whilst 
the  few  stars  that  overhung  it  in  the  firmament 
appeared  to  shoot  through  it  in  broken  lines,  and 
to  be  multiplied  fifty -fold  in  the  many-faced  mirror 
<jn  which  we  gazed. 

Over  this  was  a  stormy  sky,  and  around  us  a 
darkness  through  which  we  could  only  distinguish 
in  outline  the  nearest  objects,  whilst  the  wild  wind 
swept  strongly  and  dismally  upon  us.  When  it 
was  discovered  that  the  common  pathway  to  the 
house  was  inundated,  we  were  about  to  abandon 
our  object  and  return  home  ;  the  captain,  however, 
stooped  down  low  for  a  moment,  and,  almost 
closing  his  eyes,  looked  along  the  surface  of  the 
waters,  and  then  raising  himself  very  calmly,  said, 
in  his  usual  quiet  tone,  "  Yees  needn't  go  back, 
boys,  I've  found  a  path ;  jist  follow  me."  He 
immediately  took  a  more  circuitous  direction,  by 
which  we  reached  a  causeway  that  had  been  raised 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  a  free  passage  to  and 
from  the  house  during  such  inundations  as  the 
present.  Along  this  we  had  advanced  more  than 
half  way,  when  we  discovered  a  break  in  it,  which, 
as  afterwards  appeared,  had  that  night  been  made 
by  the  strength  of  the  flood.  This,  by  means  of 
our  sticks  and  pikes,  we  found  to  be  about  three 
feet  deep  and  eight  yards  broad.    Again  we  were 


at  a  loss  how  to  proceed,  when  the  fertile  brain  of 
the  captain  devised  a  method  of  crossing  it. 

"  Boys,"  said  he ;  "  of  course  you've  all  played 
at  leap-frog— very  well,  strip  and  go  in  a  dozen  of 
you  ;  lean  one  upon  the  shoulders  of  another  from 
this  to  the  opposite  bank,  where  one  must  stand 
facing  the  outside  man,  both  their  shoulders  agin 
one  another,  that  the  outside  man  may  be  sup- 
ported— then  we  can  creep  over  you,  an'  a  decent 
bridge  you'll  be,  any  way."  This  was  tlie  work  of 
only  a  few  minutes,  and  in  less  than  ten  we  were 
all  safely  over. 

Mercifid  heaven  !  how  I  sicken  at  the  recollection 
of  what  is  to  follow  !  On  reaching  the  dry  bank, 
we  proceeded  instantly,  and  in  profound  silence,  to 
the  house  ;  the  captain  divided  us  into  companies, 
and  then  assigned  to  each  division  its  proper 
station.  The  two  parties  who  had  been  so  vin- 
dictive all  the  night  he  kept  about  himself  ;  for  of 
those  who  were  present  they  only  were  in  his  con- 
fidence, and  knew  his  nefarious  purpose.  Their 
number  was  about  fifteen.  Having  made  these 
dispositions,  he,  at  the  head  of  about  five  of  them, 
approached  the  house  on  the  windy  side ;  for  the 
fiend  possessed  a  coolness  which  enabled  him  to 
seize  upon  every  possible  advantage.  That  he  had 
combustibles  about  him  was  evident,  for  in  less 
than  fifteen  minutes  nearly  one  half  of  the  house 


340 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


was  enveloped  in  flames.  On  seeing  this,  the 
others  rushed  over  to  the  spot  where  he  and  his 
g-ang  were  standing,  and  remonstrated  earnestly, 
but  in  vain.  The  flames  now  burst  forth  with 
renewed  violence,  and,  as  they  flung  their  strong 
light  upon  the  faces  of  the  foremost  group,  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine  anything  more  satanic  than 
their  countenances,  now  worked  up  into  a 
jiaroxysm  of  infernal  triumph  at  their  own 
revenge.  The  captain's  look  had  lost  all  its 
calmness,  every  feature  started  out  into  distinct 
malignity,  the  curve  in  his  brow  was  deep,  and 
ran  up  to  the  root  of  the  hair,  dividing  his  face 
into  two  sections,  that  did  not  seem  to  have  been 
designed  for  each  other.  His  lips  were  half  open, 
and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  a  little  brought  back 
on  each  side,  like  those  of  a  man  expressing 
intense  hatred  and  triumph  over  an  enemy  who  is 
in  the  death-struggle  under  his  grasp.  His  eyes 
blazed  from  beneath  his  knit  eyebi'ows  with  a  fire 
that  seemed  to  have  been  lighted  uj)  in  the  infernal 
pit  itself.  .  It  is  unnecessary  and  only  painful  tc 
describe  the  rest  of  his  gang. 

When  the  othei-s  attempted  to  intercede  for  the 
lives  of  the  inmates,  there  were  at  least  fifteer. 
loaded  guns  and  pistols  levelled  at  them. 
"  Another  word,"  said  the  captain,  "  an'  you're 
a  corpse  where  you  stand,  or  the  first  man  who 
will  dare  to  speak  for  them.  No,  no  !  it  wasn't  to 
spare  them  we  came  here  'No  mercy'  is  the 
passwordfor  the  night ;  an'  by  the  sacred  oath  I 
swore  beyant  in  the  chapel,  any  one  among  yees 
that  will  attim}»t  to  show  it  will  find  none  at  my 
hand.  Surround  the  hou.se,  boys,  I  tell  ye ;  I 
hear  them  stirring — No  mercy — no  quarther — is 
the  ordher  of  the  night." 

Such  was  his  command  over  these  misguided 
creatures  that  in  an  instant  there  was  a  ring 
round  the  house  to  prevent  the  escape  of  the 
unhappy  inmates,  should  the  raging  element  give 
them  time  to  attempt  it ;  for  none  present  dared 
withdraw  from  the  scene,  not  only  from  an 
apprehension  of  the  captain's  present  vengeance, 
or  that  of  his  gang,  but  because  they  knew  that, 
even  had  they  then  escaped,  an  early  and  certain 
death  awaited  them  from  a  quarter  against  which 
they  had  no  means  of  defence.  The  hour  now 
was  about  half-past  two  o'clock.  Scarcely  had  the 
last  words  escaped  from  the  captain's  lips,  when 
one  of  the  windows  of  the  house  was  broken,  and 
a  human  head,  ha^nng  the  hair  in  a  blaze,  was  | 
descried  —  apparently  a  woman's,  if  one  might 
judge  by  the  profusion  of  burning  tresses,  and 
the  softness  of  the  tones,  notwithstanding  that  it 
called,  or  rather  shrieked,  aloud  for  help  and 
mercy.  The  only  reply  to  this  was  the  whoop 
from  the  captain  and  his  gang  of  no  mercy — "  No 
mercy  ! "  and  that  instant  the  former  and  one  of 
the  latter  rushed  to  the  spot,  and  ere  the  action 


could  be  perceived,  the  head  was  transfixed  with  a 
bayonet  and  a  pike,  both  having  entered  il 
together.  The  word  mercy  was  divided  in  hei' 
mouth  ;  a  short  silence  ensued,  the  head  hung 
down  on  the  window,  but  was  instantly  tossed 
back  into  the  flames. 

This  action  occasioned  a  cry  of  horror  from  all 
present  except  the  gang  and  their  leader,  which 
startled  and  enraged  the  latter  so  much  that  he 
ran  towards  one  of  them,  and  had  his  bayonet, 
now  reeking  with  the  blood  of  his  iunocent  victim, 
raised  to  plunge  it  in  his  body,  when,  dropping 
the  point,  he  said,  in  a  piercing  whisper  that 
hissed  in  the  ears  of  all :  "  It's  no  use  noiv,  you 
know — if  one's  to  hang  all  will  hang  ;  so  our 
safest  way,  you  persave,  is  to  lave  none  of  them  to 
tell  the  story.  Ye  maif  go  now  if  you  wish,  but  it 
won't  save  a  hair  of  your  heads.  You  cowardly 
set  !  I  knew  if  I  had  tould  yees  the  sport  that 
none  of  ye  except  my  own  boys  would  come,  so  I 
jist  i)layed  a  thrick  upon  you  ;  but  remember  what 
you  are  sworn  to,  and  stand  to  the  oath  ye  tuck." 

Unha})pily,  notwithstanding  the  wetness  of  the 
preceding  weather,  the  materials  of  the  house 
were  extremely  combustible ;  the  whole  dwelling 
was  now  one  body  of  glowing  flame,  yet  the 
shouts  and  shrieks  within  rose  awfully  above  its 
crackling  and  the  voice  of  the  storm,  for  the  wind 
once  more  blew  in  gusts,  and  with  great  violence. 
The  doors  and  windows  were  all  torn  open,  and 
such  of  those  within  as  had  escaped  the  flamee 
rushed  towards  them,  for  the  purpose  of  further 
escape,  and  of  claiming  mercy  at  the  hands  of 
their  destroyers  ;  but  whenever  they  appeared,  tlie 
unearthly  cry  of  "  No  mercy ! "  rung  upon  their 
ears  for  a  moment,  and  for  a  moment  only,  for 
they  were  flung  back  at  the  points  of  the  weapons 
which  the  demons  had  brought  with  them  to  make 
the  work  of  vengeance  more  certain 

As  yet  there  were  many  persons  in  the  house, 
whose  cry  for  life  was  strong  as  despair,  and  who 
clung  tc  it  with  all  the  awakened  powers  of 
reason  and  instinct  ;  the  ear  of  man  could  hear 
nothing  so  strongly  calculated  to  stifle  the  demon 
of  cruelty  and  revenge  within  him  as  the  long  and 
wailing  shrieks  which  rose  beyond  the  elements, 
in  tones  that  were  carried  ofi"  rapidly  upon  the 
blast,  until  they  died  away  in  the  darkness  tliat 
lay  behind  the  surrounding  hills.  Had  not  the 
house  been  in  a  solitary  situation,  and  the  hour 
the  dead  of  night,  any  person  sleeping  within  a 
moderate  distance  must  have  heard  them ;  for 
such  a  cry  of  sorrow,  deepening  into  a  yell  of 
despair,  was  almost  sufficient  to  awaken  the  dead 
It  was  lost,  however,  upon  the  hearts  and  ears  that 
heard  it ;  to  them— though,  in  justice  be  it  said,  to 
only  comparatively  a  few  of  them — it  was  as 
delightful  as  the   tones   of    soft   and   entrancing 


THE   RIBBOISTMAK 


341 


The  claims  of  the  poor  sufferers  were  now  modi- 
fied ;  they  supplicated  merely  to  suffer  death  at 
the  hands  of  tlieir  enemies ;  they  were  willing  to 
bear  that,  provided  they  should  be  allowed  to 
escape  from  the  flames.  But  no  ;  the  horrors  of 
the  conflagration  were  calmly  and  malignantly 
gloried  in  by  their  merciless  assassins,  who  deli- 
berately flung  them  back  into  all  their  tortures. 
In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes  a  man  appeared 


as  he  looked,  the  indescribable  horror  which  flitted 
over  his  features  might  have  worked  upon  Satar, 
himself  to  relent. 

His  words  were  few.  "  My  child,"  said  he,  "  is 
still  safe  ;  she  is  an  infant,  a  young  creature  that 
never  harmed  you  nor  any  one — she  is  still  safe. 
Your  mothers,  your  wives,  have  young,  innocent 
children  like  it — oh,  spare  her !  Think  for  a 
moment  that  it's  one  of  your  own  ;  spare  it,  a? 


The  i'lKE.     {I)i\ncn  by  J.  Bell.) 


upon  the  side-wall  of  the  house,  nearly  naked  : 
his  figure,  as  he  stood  against  the  sky  in  horrible 
relief,  was  so  finished  a .  picture  of  woe-begone 
agony  and  supplication  that  it  is  yet  as  distinct  in 
my  memory  as  if  I  were  again  present  at  the 
scene.  Every  muscle,  now  in  motion  by  the 
powerful  agitation  of  his  sufferings,  stood  out 
upon  his  limbs  and  neck,  giving  him  an  appear- 
ance of  desperate  strength,  to  which  by  this  time 
he  must  have  been  wrought ;  the  perspiration 
poured  from  his  frame,  and  the  veins  and  arteries 
of  his  neck  were  inflated  to  a  surprising  thickness. 
Every  moment  he  looked  down  into  the  thick 
flames  which  were  rising  to  where  ho  stood  ;  and, 


you  hope  to  meet  a  just  God  ;  or,  if  you  don't,  in 
mercy  shoot  me  first— put  an  end  to  me  before  I 
see  her  burned." 

The  captain  approached  him  coolly  and  deli- 
berately. "  You  will  prosecute  no  one  now,  you 
miserable  informer,"  said  he  ;  "  you  will  convict  nc 
more  boys  for  taking  an  ould  rusty  gun  an'  pistol 
from  you,  or  for  givin'  you  a  neighbourly  knock  or 
two  into  the  bargain."  Just  then  from  a  window 
opposite  him  proceeded  the  shrieks  of  a  woman, 
who  appeared  at  it  with  the  infant  in  her  arms 
She  herself  was  almost  scorched  to  death,  but^ 
with  the  presence  of  mind  and  humanity  of  her 
sex,  she  v^as  about  tc  thrust  the  little  babo  out  of 


342 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTPIORS. 


thb  window.  The  capt;uu  noticed  this,  and, 
with  characteristic  atrocity,  thrust,  with  a  sharp 
bayonet,  the  little  innocent,  along  with  the  person 
who  endeavoured  to  rescue  it,  into  the  red  flames, 
where  they  both  perished.  This  was  the  work  of 
an  inst'iut.  Again  he  approached  the  man. 
"  Your  child  is  a  coal  now,"  said  he,  with  deli- 
berate mockery;  "I  pitched  it  in  myself  on  the 
point  of  this,"  showing  the  weapon,  "  and  now  is 
your  turn."  Saying  which,  he  clambered  up  by 
the  assistance  of  his  gang,  who  stood  with  a  front 
of  pikes  and  bayonets  bristling  to  receive  the 
wretched  man,  should  he  attempt,  in  his  despair, 
to  throw  himself  from  the  wall.  The  captain  got 
up,  and,  placing  the  point  of  his  bayonet  against 
his  shoulder,  flung  him  into  the  fiery  element  that 
raged  behind  him.  He  uttered  one  wild  and 
piercing  cry  as  he  fell  back,  and  no  more.  After 
this  nothing  was  heard  but  the  crackling  of  the 
fire  and  the  rushing  of  the  blast ;  all  that  had 
possessed  life  within  were  consumed,  amounting 
either  to  eleven  or  fifteen  persons. 

^Vlicn  this  was  accomplished,  those  who  took  an 
active  part  in  the  murder  stood  for  some  time 
about  the  conflagration  ;  and,  as  it  threw  its  red 
light  upon  their  fierce  faces  and  rough  persons, 
soiled  as  they  now  were  with  smoke  and  black 
streaks  of  ashes,  the  scene  was  inexpressibly 
horrible.  The  faces  of  those  who  kept  aloof  from 
the  slaughter  were  blanched  to  the  whiteness  of 
death  ;  some  of  them  fainted,  and  others  were  in 
such  agitation  that  they  Avere  compelled  to  leave 
their  comrades.  They  became  actually  stiff  and 
powerless  with  horror;  yet  to  such  a  scene  were  they 
brought  by  the  pernicious  influence  of  Ribbonism. 

It  was  only  when  the  last  victim  went  down 
that  the  conflagration  shot  up  into  the  air  with 
most  unbounded  fuiy.  The  house  was  large, 
deeply  thatched,  and  well  furnished  ;  and  the 
broad  red  pyramid  rose  up  with  fearful  magni- 
ficence towards  the  sky.  Abstractedly  it  ha,d 
sublimity,  but  now  it  was  associated  with  nothing 
in  my  mind  but  blood  and  terror.  It  was  not, 
however,  without  a  purpose  that  the  captain  and 
his  guard  stood  to  contemplate  its  effect.  "  Boys," 
said  he,  "  we  had  better  be  sartin  that  all's  safe ; 
who  knows  but  there  might  be  some  of  the 
sarpents  crouchin'  under  a  hape  of   rubbish,  to 


come  out  and  gibbet  us  to-morrow  or  next  day. 
We  had  betther  wait  a  while,  any  how,  if  it  was 
only  to  see  the  blaze." 

Just  then  the  flames  rose  majestically  to  a 
surprising  height.  Our  eyes  followed  their  direc- 
tion, and  we  perceived  for  the  first  time  that  the 
dark  clouds  above,  together  with  the  intermediate 
air,  appeared  to  reflect  back,  or  rather  to  have 
caught,  the  red  hue  of  the  fire.  The  hills  and  coun- 
try about  us  appeared  with  an  alarming  distinct- 
ness ;  but  the  most  picturesque  part  of  it  was  the 
eff'ect  or  reflection  of  the  blaze  on  the  floods  that 
spread  over  the  surrounding  plains.  These,  in 
fact,  appeared  to  be  one  broad  mass  of  liquid 
copper ;  for  the  motion  of  the  breaking  waters 
caught  from  the  blaze  of  the  high  waving  column^ 
as  reflected  in  them,  a  glaring  light,  which  eddied 
and  rose  and  fluctuated  as  if  the  flood  itself  had 
been  a  lake  of  molten  fire. 

Fire,  however,  destroys  rapidly.  In  a  short 
time  the  flames  sank — became  weak  and  flicker- 
ing— by  and  by,  they  only  shot  out  in  fits — the 
crackling  of  the  timbers  died  away — the  surround- 
ing darkness  deepened  ;  and,  ere  long,  the  faint 
light  was  overpowered  by  the  thick  volumes  of 
smoke  that  rose  from  the  ruins  of  the  house  and 
its  murdered  inhabitants. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  the  captain,  "  all  is  safe  ;  we 
may  go.  Remember,  every  man  of  you,  that 
you've  sworn  this  night  on  the  Book  and  altar — 
not  a  heretic  Bible.  If  you  perjure  yourselves, 
you  may  hang  us ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  for  your 
comfort,  that,  if  you  do,  there  is  them  livin'  that 
will  take  care  the  lase  of  your  own  lives  will  be 
but  short."  After  this  we  dispersed,  every  man  to 
his  own  home. 

Reader,  not  many  months  elapsed  ere  I  saAv 
the  bodies  of  this  captain,  whose  name  was  Paddy 
Devan,  and  all  those  who  were  actively  concerned  in 
the  perpetration  of  this  deed  of  horror,  withering  in 
the  wind,  where  they  hung  gibbeted  near  the  scene 
of  their  nefarious  villany ;  and,  while  I  inwardly 
thanked  Heaven  for  my  own  narrow  and  almost 
undeserved  escape,  I  thought  in  my  heart  how 
seldom,  even  in  this  world,  justice  fails  to  over- 
take the  murderer,  and  to  enforce  the  righteous 
judgment  of  God,  "that  whoso  sheddeth  man's 
blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood  be  shod." 


.^^ 


BALLAD. 

[By  S.  C.  Calverley.] 


The  auld  wife  sat  at  her  ivied  door, 
{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  jwund  of  cheese) 

A  thing  she  had  frequently  done  before  ; 
And  her  spectacles  lay  on  her  apron'd  knees. 


The  piper  he  piped  on  the  hill-top  high, 
{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

Till  the  cow  said,"  [  die,"  and  the  goose  ask'd  "Why  T 
Ard  the  dog  said  nothing,  but  search'd  for  fleas. 


FALSTAFF    THE    VALIANT. 


343 


The  farmer  he  strode  through  the  square  farmyard  ; 

{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  2)ound  of  cheese) 
His  last  brew  of  ale  was  a  trifle  hard — 

The  connection  of  which  with  the  plot  one  sees. 

The  farmer's  daughter  hath  frank  blue  eyes  ; 

{Butter  aiul  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
She  hears  the  rooks  caw  in  the  windy  skies, 

As  she  sits  at  her  lattice  and  shells  her  peas. 


The  farmer's  daughter  hath  ripe  red  lips  ; 

{Batter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
If  you  try  to  approach  her,  away  she  skips 

Over  tables  and  chairs  with  apparent  ease. 

The  farmer's  daughter  hath  soft  brown  hair ; 

{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
And  I  met  with  a  ballad,  I  can't  say  where, 

Which  wholly  consisted  of  lines  like  these. 


Part  II. 


She  sat,  with  her  hands  'neath  her  dimpled  cheeks, 
{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  j^otmd  of  cheese) 

And  spake  not  a  word.     While  a  lady  speaks 
There  is  hope,  but  she  didn't  even  sneeze. 

She  sat,  with  her  hands  'neath  her  crimson  cheeks ; 

{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 
She  gave  up  mending  her  father's  breeks. 

And  let  the  cat  roll  in  her  new  chemise. 


She  sat,  with  her  hands  'neath  her  burning  cheeks, 
{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

And  gazed  at  the  piper  for  thirteen  weeks  ; 
Then  she  followed  him  out  o'er  the  misty  leas. 

Her  sheep  followed  her,  as  their  tails  did  them, 
{Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese) 

And  this  song  is  considered  a  perfect  gem, 
And  as  to  the  meaning,  it's  what  you  please. 


FALSTAFF    THE    VALIANT. 

[By  William  Shakespeaee.] 


Pains.  Welcome,  Jack.    Where  hast  thou  been  1 

Fal.  A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say,  and  a 
vengeance  too  !  marry,  and  amen  ! — Give  me  a 
cup  of  sack,  boy. — Ere  I  lead  this  life  long,  I'll 
sew  nether-stocks,  and  mend  them,  and  foot  them 
too.  A  plague  of  all  cowards  ! — Give  me  a  cup  of 
sack,  rogue. — Is  there  no  virtue  extant  1 

[He  drinks. 

P.  Hen.  Didst  thou  never  see  Titan  kiss  a  dish 
of  butter  (pitiful-hearted  Titan),  that  melted  at 
the  sweet  tale  of  the  sun  1  if  thou  didst,  then 
behold  that  compound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  here's  lime  in  this  sack  too  : 
there  is  nothing  but  roguery  to  be  found  in 
villainous  man  :  yet  a  coward  is  worse  than  a  cup 
of  sack  with  lime  in  it :  a  villainous  coward. — Go 
thy  ways,  old  Jack ;  die  when  thou  wilt.  If 
manhood,  good  manhood,  be  not  forgot  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth,  then  am  I  a  shotten  herring. 
There  live  not  three  good  men  unhanged  in 
England,  and  one  of  them  is  fat,  and  grows  old : 
God  help  the  while  !  a  bad  world,  I  say.  I  would 
I  were  a  weaver  ;  I  could  sing  psalms  or  anything. 
A  plague  of  all  cowards,  I  say  still. 

P.  Hen.  How  now,  wool-sack]  what  mutter  you? 

Fal.  A  king's  son  !  If  I  do  not  beat  thee  out  of 
thy  kingdom  with  a  dagger  of  lath,  and  drive  all 
thy  subjects  afore  thee  like  a  flock  of  wild  geese, 
I'll  never  wear  hair  on  my  face  more.  You  Prince 
of  Wales  ! 

P.  Hen.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 


Fal.  Are  you  not  a  coward  1  answer  me  to  that ; 
and  Poins  there  1 

Poins.  'Zounds  !  ye  fat-paunch,  an  ye  call  mo 
coward,  I'll  stab  thee. 

Fal.  I  call  thee  coward  !  I'll  see  thee  damned 
ere  I  call  thee  coward ;  but  I  would  give  a 
thousand  pound,  I  could  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst. 
You  are  straight  enough  in  the  shoulders  ;  you 
care  not  who  sees  your  back ;  call  you  that  back- 
ing of  your  friends  1  A  plague  upon  such  back- 
ing !  give  me  them  that  will  face  me. — Give  me 
a  cup  of  sack  :  I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  drunk  to-day. 

P.  Hen.  O  villain  !  thy  lips  are  scarce  wiped 
since  thou  drunk'st  last. 

Fal.  All's  one  for  that;  [He  drinks.']  A  plague 
of  all  cowards,  still  say  I. 

P.  Hen.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Fal.  What's  the  matter?  there  be  four  of  us 
here  have  ta'en  a  thousand  pound  this  day  morn- 
ing. 

P.  Hen.  Where  is  it.  Jack  ?  where  is  it  ? 

Fal.  Where  is  it  ?  taken  from  us  it  is  :  a  hun  • 
dred  upon  poor  four  of  us. 

P.  Hen.  What,  a  hundred,  man  ? 

Fal.  I  am  a  rogue,  if  I  were  not  at  half-sword 
with  a  dozen  of  them  two  hours  together.  I  have 
'scap'd  by  miracle.  I  am  eight  times  thrust  through 
the  doublet ;  four  through  the  hose  ;  my  buckler 
cut  through  and  through  ;  my  sword  hacked  Kke 
a  hand-saw :  ecce  signum.  I  never  dealt  better 
since  I  was  a  man  :  all  would  not  do.    A  plague 


3U 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


■  i'oUR  ROGUES  IN  BUCKRAM  LET  DRIVE  AT  ME."    (Drawn  ty  W.  F.  Yeamcs,  R.A.) 


of  all  cowards  I — Let  them  speak  :  if  they  speak 
more  or  less  than  truth,  tliey  are  villains,  and  the 
sons  of  darkness. 

P.  Hen.  Speak,  sirs  :  how  was  it  ? 

Gads.  We  four  set  upon  some  dozen, — 

Fal.  Sixteen,  at  least,  my  lord. 

Gads.  And  bound  them. 

Peto.  No,  no,  they  were  not  bound. 

Fal.  You  rogue,  they  were  bound,  every  man  of 
them  ;  or  I  am  a  Jew  else,  an  Ebrew  Jew. 

Gads.  As  we  were  sharing,  some  six  or  seven 
fresh  men  set  upon  us, — 

Fal.  And  unbound  the  rest,  and  then  come  in 
the  other. 

P.  Hen.  What,  fought  ye  with  them  all  1 

Fal.  All  ]  I  know  not  what  ye  call  all ;  but  if  I 
fought  not  with  fifty  of  them,  I  am  a  bunch  of 
radish  :  if  there  were  not  two  or  three  and  fifty 
upon  poor  old  Jack,  then  am  I  no  two-legged 
creature. 


P.  Hen.  Pray  God,  you  have  not  murdered  some 
of  them. 

Fal.  Nay,  that's  past  praying  for  :  I  have 
peppered  two  of  them  :  two,  I  am  sure,  I  have 
paid,  two  rogues  in  buckram  suits.  I  tell  thee 
what,  Hal, — if  I  tell  thee  a  lie,  spit  in  my  face,  call 
me  horse.  Thou  knowest  my  old  ward  : — here  I 
lay,  and  thus  I  bore  my  point.  Four  rogues  in 
buckram  let  drive  at  me, — 

P.  Hen.  What,  four  1  thou  saidst  but  two,  even 
now. 

Fal.  Four,  Hal ;  I  told  thee  four. 

Poins.  Ay,  ay,  he  said  four. 

Fal.  These  four  came  all  a-front,  and  mainly 
thrust  at  me.  I  made  me  no  more  ado,  but  took 
all  their  seven  points  in  my  target,  thus. 

P.  Hen.  Seven?  why,  there  were  but  four,  even  now. 

Fal.  In  buckram  1 

Poins.  Ay,  four,  in  buckram  suits. 

Fal.  Seven,  by  these  hilts,  or  I  am  a  villain  else. 


FALSTAFF   THE   VALIANT. 


345 


P.  Hen.  Pr'ythee,  let  him  alone :  we  shall  have 
more  anon. 

Fal.  Dost  thou  hear  me,  Hal  ] 

P.  Hen.  Ay,  and  mark  thee  too,  Jack. 

Fal.  Do  so,  for  it  is  worth  the  listening  to. 
These  nine  in  buckram,  that  I  told  thee  of, — 

P.  Hen.  So,  two  more  already. 

Fal.  Their  points  being  broken, — 

Poins.  Down  fell  their  hose. 

Fal.  Began  to  give  me  ground  ;  but  I  followed 
me  close,  came  in,  foot  and  hand,  and  with  a 
thought  seven  of  the  eleven  I  paid. 

P.  Hen.  O  monstrous  !  eleven  buckram  men 
grown  out  of  two. 

Fal.  But,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  three  mis- 
begotten knaves  in  Kendal  green  came  at  my  back 
and  let  drive  at  me  ;  for  it  was  so  dark,  Hal,  that 
thou  couldst  not  see  thy  hand. 

P.  Hen.  These  lies  are  like  the  father  that  begets 
them  ;  gross  as  a  mountain,  open,  palpable.  Why, 
thou  clay-brained  guts,  thou  knotty-pated  fool, 
thou  whoreson,  obscene,  greasy  tallow-ketch, — 

Fal.  What  !  art  thou  mad  1  art  thou  mad  1  is 
not  the  truth  the  truth. 

P.  Hen.  Why,  how  couldst  thou  know  these  men 
in  Kendal  green,  when  it  was  so  dark  thou  couldst 
not  see  thy  hand  1  come,  tell  us  your  reason  :  what 
sayest  thou  to  this  ? 

Poins.  Come,  your  reason.  Jack,  your  reason. 

Fal.  What,  upon  compulsion  1  No  ;  were  I  at 
the  strappado,  or  all  the  racks  in  the  world,  I 
would  not  tell  you  on  compulsion.     Give  you  a 


reason  on  compulsion  !  if  reasons  were  as  plenty 
as  blackberries,  I  would  give  no  man  a  reason 
upon  compulsion,  I. 

P.  Hen.  I'll  be  no  longer  guilty  of  this  sin. 

Poins.  Mark,  Jack. 

P.  Hen.  We  two  saw  you  four  set  on  four,  and 
you  bound  them,  and  were  masters  of  their 
wealtL — Mark  now,  how  a  plain  tale  shall  put  you 
down. — Then  did  we  two  set  on  you  four,  and, 
with  a  word,  outfaced  you  from  your  prize,  and 
have  it ;  yea,  and  can  show  it  you  here  in  the 
house. — And,  Falstaff,  you  carried  your  guts  away 
as  nimbly,  with  as  quick  dexterity,  and  roared  for 
mercy,  and  still  ran  and  roared,  as  ever  I  heard 
bull-calf.  What  a  slave  art  thou,  to  hack  thy 
sword  as  thou  hast  done,  and  then  say,  it  was  in 
light  !  What  trick,  what  device,  what  starting- 
hole  canst  thou  now  find  out,  to  hide  thee  from 
this  open  and  apparent  shame  ? 

Poins.  Come,  let's  hear,  Jack  :  what  trick  hast 
thou  now  1 

Fal.  By  the  Lord,  I  knew  ye,  as  well  as  he 
that  made  ye.  Why,  hear  ye,  my  masters.  Was 
it  for  me  to  kill  the  heir-apparent  1  Should  I 
turn  upon  the  true  prince  ?  Why,  thou  knowest, 
I  am  as  valiant  as  Hercules  ;  but  beware  in- 
stinct :  the  lion  will  not  touch  the  true  prince. 
Instinct  is  a  great  matter,  I  was  a  coward  on 
instinct.  I  shall  think  the  better  of  myself  and 
thee,  during  my  life;  I  for  a  valiant  lion,  and 
thou  for  a  true  prince.  But,  by  the  Lord,  lads, 
I  am  glad  you  have  the  money. 


THE     TIEED    JESTER. 

[By  William  Sawyer.] 


[HE  West  was  a  tangle  of  throbbing  gold, 

A  cloud-skein   ravell'd  against  the 

blue. 

The  fresh  wind  loosen'd  it  fold  from  fold. 

And  the  jewel  of    Hesper  glitter'd 

through. 


Only  the  scimitar  rim  of  the  sun 

Flash'd  as  it  sank  in  a  golden  mere, 

And  the  glory  of  mountain  and  plain  was  one, 
In  refluent  splendour  shining  clear. 

In  a  rosy  halo  the  palace  stood, 

Many  column'd  and  terraced  wide  ; 

Behind  it  the  glow  of  the  autumn  wood. 
And  round  it  the  garden  rainbow -dyed. 

Within  were  revel  and  riotous  glee. 

Wine-born  laughter  and  bubble  ot  song, 

And  a  reed  voice  piping  shrilly  and  free, 

A  voice  out-shrilling  the  screaming  throng. 
2b* 


"  A  bout  with  the  jester  ! "  it  sang—"  a  bout ! 

Whose  the  sword  for  the  peacock  feather  1 
Have  a  care,  whipster  !    Out,  sword,  out ! 

Down  go  beauty  and  brains  together  !  " 

So  for  a  season  the  mirth  ran  high. 

So,  till  its  turbulent  force  was  spent ; 

Then  forth  stole  one  'neath  the  cooling  sky, 
Weary  and  tottering,  worn  and  bent. 

The  jester's  garb  of  orange-and-red, 

Stain'd  with  revel  and  wine,  he  wore  ; 

The  hood  thrown  back  from  the  shaven  head, 
The  face  that  writhing  for  laughter  bore. 

The  wind  was  rising,  the  poplars  sway'd, 

Athwart  the  terrace  the  leaves  were  blown  ; 

"  In  a  motley  mocking  my  own.  array'd," 
He  thought  as  he  dropp'd  with  a  hollow 
moan. 


346 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


"  O  light  of  the  light  of  the  shining  hours  !  " 
So  in  a  passionate  gust  he  cried ; 

"  Life  of  me,  breath  of  me  !  Flower  of  flowers  ! 
Heart  of  my  heart !   That  I  had  but  died  ! 

"  Oh,  to  have  done  it — have  fallen  dead, 
I,  but  a  dog  in  her  proud  esteem — 

One  mad  snatch  at  her  sweet  mouth's  red  ; 
A  rapier  thrust — and  the  rest  a  dream  ! 

"  A  dozen  swords  would  have  run  me  through  ; 
Time  would  have  served  me  the  task  to  do. 

To  shriek  '  I  love  you  ! '  with  ebbing  breath. 

And  then?     What,  then,  but  the  quicker 
death  ? 

**  Coward  !    I  dared  not  die  in  her  scorn, 
Spum'd  of  her  feet  as  of  all  the  rest ; 


Love  of  the  fervour  of  love  is  born  ; 

What  if  she  read  it  within  my  bi-east  % " 

A  sudden  burst  of  laughter  and  song 

Startled  the  dreamer  there  where  he  lay  ; 

Silken  gallants  were  crowding  along  ; 

"  Only  the  jester  ! "  he  heard  them  say. 

Arrowy  words  so  daintily  sped, 

Straight  to  his  shuddering  heart  they  flew, 
The  rosy  glamour  of  hope  had  fled, 

The  fool  his  folly  despairing  knew. 

The  passionate  rain  and  the  moaning  wind 
Fill'd  the  night  with  their  own  despair  ; 

And  the  sobbing  dawn  awoke  to  find 

The  jester  dead  with  the  dead  leaves 
there. 


THE    CLEEGYMA^'S    STORY. 

[From  "  The  Pickwick  Papers,"  by  Charles  Dickens.] 


HEN  I  first 
settled  in 
this  village,  which  is 
now  just  five-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  the 
most  notorious  per- 
son among  my  jia- 
rishioners  was  a  man 
of  the  name  of 
Edmunds,  who  leased 
a  small  farm  near  this 
spot.  He  was  a  mo- 
rose, savage-hearted, 
bad  man  ;  idle  and 
dissolute  in  his  habits  ; 
cruel  and  ferocious  in 
his  disposition.  Be- 
i"^?^  yond  the  few  lazy  and  reck- 
less vagabonds  with  whom 
he  sauntered  away  his  time 
in  the  fields,  or  sotted  in  the 
ale-house,  he  had  not  a  single 
friend  or  acquaintance  ;  no 
one  cared  to  speak  the  man 
whom  many  feared  and  every  one  detested — and 
Edmunds  was  shunned  by  all 

This  man  had  a  wife  and  one  son,  who,  when  I 
first  came  here,  was  about  twelve  years  old.  Of 
the  acuteness  of  that  woman's  sufferings,  of  the 
gentle  and  enduring  manner  in  which  she  bore 
them,  of  the  agony  of  solicitude  with  which  she 
reared  that  boy,  no  one  can  form  an  adequate  con- 
ception. Heaven  forgive  me  the  supposition,  if  it 
be  an  uncharitable  one,  but  I  do  firmly  and  in  my 


soul  believe,  that  the  man  systematically  tried  for 
many  years  to  break  her  heart ;  but  she  bore  it  all 
for  her  child's  sake,  and,  however  strange  it 
may  seem  to  many,  for  his  father's  too  ;  for, 
brute  as  he  was,  and  cruelly  as  he  had  treated  her, 
she  had  loved  him  once  ;  and  the  recollection  of 
what  he  had  been  to  her  awakened  feelings  of 
forbearance  and  meekness  under  suffering  in  her 
bosom,  to  which  all  God's  creatures,  but  women, 
are  strangers. 

They  were  poor,  they  could  not  be  otherwise 
when  the  man  pursued  such  covirses,  but  the 
woman's  unceasing  and  unwearied  exertions,  early 
and  late,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  kept  them 
above  actual  want.  Those  exertions  were  but 
ill  repaid.  People  who  passed  the  spot  in  the 
evening — sometimes  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night — 
reported  that  they  had  heard  the  moans  and  sobs 
of  a  woman  in  distress,  and  the  sound  of  blows  ; 
and  more  than  once,  when  it  was  past  midnight, 
the  boy  knocked  softly  at  the  door  of  a  neighbour's 
house,  whither  he  had  been  sent  to  escape  the 
drunken  fury  of  his  unnatural  father. 

During  the  whole  of  this  time,  and  when  the 
poor  creature  often  bore  about  her  marks  of  ill-usage 
and  violence  which  she  could  not  wholly  conceal,  she 
was  a  constant  attendant  at  our  little  church. 
Regularly  every  Sunday,  morning  and  afternoon, 
she  occupied  the  same  seat  with  the  boy  at  her 
side  ;  and  though  they  were  both  jworly  dressed — 
much  more  so  than  many  of  their  neighbours,  who 
were  in  a  lower  station — they  were  always  neat 
and  clean.  Every  one  had  a  friendly  nod  and  a 
kind  word  for  "  poor  Mrs.  Edmunds  ; "  and  some- 


THE  CLERGYMAN'S  STORY. 


347 


times  when  she  stoj^ped  to  exchange  a  few  words 
with  a  neighbour  at  the  conclusion  of  the  service, 
in  the  little  row  of  elm-trees  which  leads  to  the 
church-porch,  or  lingered  behind  to  gaze  with  a 
mother's  pride  and  fondness  upon  her  healthy 
boy,  as  he .  sported  before  her  with  some  little 
companions,  her  care-worn  face  would  lighten  up 
with  an  expression  of  heartfelt  gratitude  ;  and  she 
would  look,  if  not  cheerful  and  happy,  at  least 
tranquil  and  contented. 

Five  or  six  years  passed  ;  the  boy  had  become  a 
robust  and  well-grown  youth.  The  time  that  had 
strengthened  the  child's  slight  frame  and  knit 
his  weak  limbs  into  the  strength  of  manhood  had 
l)owed  his  mother's  form  and  enfeebled  her  steps  ; 
but  the  arm  that  should  have  supported  her  was  no 
longer  locked  in  hers  ;  the  face  that  should  have 
fheered  her  no  more  looked  upon  her  own.  She  occu- 
pied her  old  seat,  but  there  was  a  vacant  one  beside 
her.  The  Bible  was  kept  as  carefully  as  ever,  the 
l)laces  were  found  and  folded  down  as  they  used  to 
be,  but  there  was  no  one  to  read  it  with  her  ;  and  the 
tears  fell  thick  and  fast  upon  the  book,  and  blotted 
the  words  from  her  eyes.  Neighbours  were  as  kind  as 
they  were  wont  to  be  of  old,  but  she  shunned  their 
greetings  with  averted  head.  There  was  no  lingering 
among  the  old  elm-trees  now,  no  cheering  antici- 
pation of  happiness  yet  in  store.  The  desolate 
woman  drew  her  bonnet  closer  over  her  face,  and 
walked  hurriedly  away. 

Shall  I  tell  you  that  the  young  man,  who,  look- 
ing back  to  the  earliest  of  his  childhood's  days  to 
which  memory  and  consciousness  extended,  and 
carrying  his  recollection  down  to  that  moment, 
could  I'emember  nothing  which  was  not  in  some 
way  connected  with  a  long  series  of  voluntary 
privations  suffered  by  his  mother  for  his  sake,  with 
ill-usage,  and  insult,  and  violence,  and  all  endured 
for  him  ;  shall  I  tell  you  that  he,  with  a  reckless 
disregard  of  her  breaking  heart,  and  a  sullen 
wilful  forgetfulness  for  all  she  had  done  and 
borne  for  him,  had  linked  himself  with  depraved 
and  abandoned  men,  and  was  madly  pursuing  a 
headlong  career,  which  must  bring  death  to  him 
and  shame  to  her  ?  Alas  for  human  nature  !  You 
have  anticipated  it  long  since. 

The  measure  of  the  unhappy  woman's  misery 
and  misfortune  was  about  to  be  completed. 
Numerous  offences  had  been  committed  in  the 
neighbourhood  ;  the  perpetrators  remained  undis- 
covered, and  their  boldness  increased.  A  robbery 
of  a  daring  and  aggravated  nature  occasioned 
a  vigilance  of  pursuit  and  a  strictness  of  search 
tliey  had  not  calculated  on.  Young  Edmunds 
was  suspected  with  three  companions.  He  was 
apprehended,  committed,  tried,  condemned  —  to 
die. 

The  wild  and  piercing  shriek  from  a  woman's 
Toice,  which  resounded  through  the  court  when 


the  solemn  sentence  was  pronounced,  rings  in  my 
ears  at  this  present  moment.  That  cry  struck  a 
terror  to  the  culprit's  heart,  which  trial,  con- 
demnation, the  approach  of  death  itself,  had  failed 
to  awaken.  The  lips  which  had  been  compressed 
in  dogged  sullenness  throughout,  quivered  and 
parted  involuntarily ;  the  face  turned  ashy  pale 
as  the  cold  perspiration  broke  forth  from  every 
pore  ;  the  sturdy  limbs  of  the  felon  trembled,  and 
he  staggered  in  the  dock. 

In  the  first  transports  of  her  mental  anguish 
the  suffering  mother  threw  herself  upon  her  knees 
at  my  feet,  and  fervently  besought  the  Almighty 
Being,  who  had  hitherto  supported  her  in  all  her 
troubles,  to  release  her  from  a  world  of  woe  and 
misery,  and  to  spare  the  life  of  her  only  child.  A 
burst  of  grief,  and  a  violent  struggle,  such  as  1 
hope  I  may  never  have  to  witness  again,  succeeded, 
I  knew  that  her  heart  was  breaking  from  that 
hour  ;  but  I  never  once  heard  complaint  or  mur- 
mur escape  her  lips. 

It  was  a  piteous  spectacle  to  see  that  woman  in 
the  prison-yard  from  day  to  day,  eagerly  and 
fervently  attempting  by  affection  and  entreaty,  to 
soften  the  hard  heart  of  her  obdurate  son.  It  was 
in  vain.  He  remained  moody,  obstinate,  and 
immoved.  Not  even  the  unlooked  for  connnuta- 
tion  of  his  sentence  to  transportation  for  fourteen 
years  softened  for  an  instant  the  sullen  hardihood 
of  his  demeanour. 

But  the  spirit  of  resignation  and  endurance  that 
had  so  long  upheld  her  was  unable  to  contend 
against  bodily  weakness  and  infirmity.  She  fell 
sick.  She  dragged  her  tottering  Jimbs  from  the 
bed  to  visit  her  son  once  more,  but  her  strength 
failed  her,  and  she  sank  powerless  on  the  ground. 

And  now,  the  boasted  coldnesss  and  indifference 
of  the  young  man  were  tested  indeed  ;  and  the 
retribution  that  fell  heavily  upon  him  nearly  drove 
him  mad.  A  day  passed  away  and  his  mother  was 
not  there  ;  another  flew  by,  and  she  came  not  near 
him  ;  a  third  evening  arrived,  and  yet  he  had  not 
seen  her  ;  and  in  four-aud-twenty  hours  he  was  to 
be  separated  from  her— perhaps  for  ever. 

I  bore  the  mother's  forgiveness  and  blessing  to 
her  son  in  prison  ;  and  I  carried  his  solemn  assur- 
ance of  repentance,  and  his  fervent  supplication 
for  pardon,  to  her  sick-bed.  I  heard  with  pity 
and  compassion,  the  repentant  man  devise  a 
thousand  little  plans  for  her  comfort  and  support, 
when  he  returned  ;  but  I  knew  that  many  months 
before  he  could  reach  his  place  of  destination  his 
mother  would  be  no  longer  of  this  world. 

He  was  removed  by  night.  A  few  weeks  after- 
wards the  poor  woman's  soul  took  its  flight,  I  con- 
fidently hope  and  solemnly  believe,  to  a  place  of 
eternal  happiness  and  rest.  I  performed  the 
burial-service  over  her  remains.  She  lies  in  our 
little  churchyard.    There  is  no  stone  at  her  grave's 


348 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


head.    Her  sorrows  were  known  to    man ;  her 
virtues  to  God. 

It  had  been  arranged  previously  to  the  convict's 
departure  that  he  should  write  to  his  mother 
as  soon  as  he  could  obtain  permission,  and  that 


distance  up  the  country  on  his  arrival  at  the 
settlement ;  and  to  tiiis  circumstance,  perhaps,  may 
be  attributed  the  fact,  that,  though  several  letters 
were  dispatched,  none  of  them  ever  reached  my 
hands. 


In  the  Prison  Yard.     (Draicn  hy  J.  E.  Christie 


the  letter  should  be  addressed  to  me.  The  father  had 
positively  refused  to  see  his  son  from  the  moment 
of  his  apprehension  ;  and  it  was  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference to  him  whether  he  lived  or  died.  Many  years 
passed  over  without  any  intelligence  of  him  ;  and 
when  more  than  half  his  term  of  transportation  had 
expired,  and  I  had  received  no  letter,  I  concluded 
him  to  be  dead,  as,  indeed,  I  almost  hoped  he 
might  be. 
Edmunds,  however,  had  been  sent  a  considerable 


On  a  fine  Sunday  evening,  in  the  month  of 
August,  John  Edmunds  set  foot  in  the  village  he 
had  left  with  shame  and  disgrace  seventeen  years 
before.  His  nearest  way  lay  through  the  church- 
yard. The  man's  heart  swelled  as  he  crossed  the 
stile.  The  tall  old  elms,  through  whose  branches 
the  declining  sun  cast  here  and  there  a  rich  ray  of 
light  upon  the  shady  path,  awakened  the  associ- 
ations of  his  earliest  days.  He  pictured  himself 
as  he  was  then,  clinging  to  his  mother's  hand,  and 


THE   CLERGYMAN'S   STORY. 


349 


walking  peacefully  to  church.  He  remembered 
liow  he  used  to  look  up  into  her  pale  face ;  and 
how  her  eyes  would  sometimes  fill  with  tears  as  she 
^azed  upon  his  features — tears  which  fell  hot  upon 
his  forehead  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  him,  and  made  him 
weep  too,  although  he  little  knew  then  what  bitter 
tears  hers  were.  He  thought  how  often  he  had  run 
merrily  down  that  path  with  some  childish  play- 
fellow, looking  back  ever  and  again,  to  catch  his 
mother's  smile,  or  hear  her  gentle  voice  ;  and  then 
a  veil  seemed  lifted  from  his  memory,  and  words 
of  kindness  imrequited,  and  warnings  despised, 
and  promises  broken,  thronged  upon  his  recollec- 
tion till  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  could  bear  it 
no  longer. 

He  entered  the  church.  The  evening  service 
was  concluded,  and  the  congregation  had  dispersed, 
but  it  was  not  yet  closed.  His  steps  echoed 
through  the  low  building  with  a  hollow  sound, 
and  he  almost  feared  to  be  alone,  it  was  so  still 
and  quiet.  He  looked  round  him.  Nothing  was 
changed. 

An  old  man  entered  the  porch  just  as  he  reached 
it.  Edmunds  started  back,  for  he  knew  him  well ; 
many  a  time  he  had  watched  him  digging  graves 
in  the  churchyard.  What  would  lie  say  to  the 
returned  convict  ? 

The  old  man  raised  his  eyes  to  the  stranger's 
face,  bade  him  "  Good  evening,"  and  walked  slowly 
on.     He  had  forgotten  him. 

The  last  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun  had  fallen 
on  the  earth,  casting  a  rich  glow  on  the  yellow 
corn -sheaves,  and  lengthening  the  shadows  of  the 
orchard  trees,  as  he  stood  before  the  old  house — 
the  home  of  his  infancy — to  which  his  heart  had 
yearned  with  an  intensity  of  affection  not  to  be 
described,  through  longand  wearyyears  of  captivity 
and  sorrow.  The  paling  was  low,  though  he  well- 
remembered  the  time  when  it  had  seemed  a  high 
wall  to  him  :  and  he  looked  over  into  the  old 
garden.  There  were  more  seeds  and  gayer  flowers 
than  there  used  to  be,  but  there  were  the  old  trees 
still — the  very  tree  under  which  he  had  lain  a 
thousand  times  when  tired  of  playing  in  the  sun, 
and  felt  the  soft  mild  sleep  of  happy  boyhood  steal 
gently  upon  him.  There  were  voices  within  the 
house.  He  listened,  but  they  fell  strangely  upon 
his  ear ;  he  knew  them  not.  They  were  merry 
too  ;  and  he  well  knew  that  his  poor  old  mother 
could  not  be  cheei'ful  and  he  away.  The  door 
opened,  and  a  group  of  little  children,  bounded 
out,  shouting  and  romping.  The  father,  with  a 
little  boy  in  his  arms,  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
they  crowded  round  him,  clapping  their  tiny  hands, 
and  dragging  him  out  to  join  their  joyous  sports. 
The  convict  thought  on  the  many  times  he  had 
shrunk  from  his  father's  sight  in  that  very  place. 
He  remembered  how  often  he  had  buried  his 
trembling  head  beneath  the  bed-clothes,  and  heard 


the  harsh  word,  and  the  hard  stripe,  and  his 
mother's  wailing  ;  and  though  the  man  sobbed 
aloud  with  agony  of  mind  as  he  left  the  spot,  his 
fist  was  clenched,  and  his  teeth  were  set,  in  fierce 
and  deadly  passion. 

And  such  was  the  return  to  which  he  had  looked 
through  the  weary  perspective  of  many  years,  and 
for  which  he  had  undergone  so  much  suffering  ! 
No  face  of  welcome,  no  look  of  forgiveness,  no 
house  to  receive,  no  hand  to  help  him— and  this, 
too,  in  the  old  village.  What  was  his  loneliness  in 
the  wild  thick  woods,  where  man  was  never  seen, 
to  this  ! 

He  felt  that  in  the  distant  land  of  his  bondage 
and  infamy,  he  had  thought  of  his  native  place  as 
it  was  when  he  left  it ;  not  as  it  would  be,  when 
he  returned.  The  sad  reality  struck  coldly  at  his 
heart,  and  his  spirits  sank  within  him.  He  had 
not  courage  to  make  inquiries,  or  to  present  him- 
self to  the  only  person  who  was  likely  to  receive 
him  with  kindness  and  compassion.  He  walked 
slowly  on ;  and  shunning  the  roadside  like  a 
guilty  man,  turned  into  a  meadow  he  well  remem- 
bered ;  and,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  threw 
himself  upon  the  grass,  where  a  man  was  already 
lying  beside  him  ;  his  workhouse  garments  rustled 
as  he  turned  round  to  steal  a  look  at  the  new- 
comer ;  and  Edmunds  raised  his  head. 

The  old  man  was  ghastly  pale.  He  shuddered, 
and  tottered  to  his  feet.  Edmunds  sprang  to  his 
He  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two.  Edmunds 
advanced. 

"  Let  me  hear  you  speak,"  said  the  convict  in  a 
thick  broken  voice. 

"  Stand  off  ! "  cried  the  old  man,  with  an  oath. 
The  convict  drew  closer. 

"Stand  off!"  shrieked  the  old  man.  Furious 
with  terror  he  raised  his  stick,  and  struck 
Edmunds  a  heavy  blow  across  the  face. 

"  Father — devil  ! "  murmured  the  convict  be- 
tween his  set  teeth.  He  rushed  wildly  forward,  and 
clenched  the  old  man  by  the  throat ;  but  he  was 
his  father,  and  his  arm  fell  powerless  by  his  side. 

The  old  man  uttered  a  loud  yell  which  rang 
through  the  lonely  fields  like  the  howl  of  an  evi' 
spirit.  His  face  turned  black  :  the  gore  rushed 
from  his  mouth  and  nose,  and  dyed  the  grass 
a  deep  dark  red,  as  he  staggered  and  fell,  rupturing 
a  blood-vessel  :  and  he  was  a  dead  man  before 
his  son  could  raise  him. 

In  that  corner  of  the  churchyard — in  that  corner 
of  the  churchyard  of  which  I  have  before  spoken — 
there  lies  buried  a  man  who  was  in  my  employ- 
ment for  three  years  after  this  event  :  and  who  was 
truly  contrite,  penitent,  and  humbled,  if  ever  man 
was.  No  one  save  myself  knew  in  that  man's  life- 
time who  he  was,  or  whence  he  came  :  it  was 
John  Edmunds,  the  returned  convict 


3o0 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


WHERE  all  is  so  good  it  becomes  a  hard  task  to  select  from  a  writer  who  is  essentially  the  poet 
of  the  home  circle,  the  sweet  singer  whose  lays  make  him  ever  welcome  at  the  fireside. 
An  Englishman  in  thought  and  tongue,  an  American  by  birth  and  nationality,  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow  is  a  poet  of  whom  all  English-speaking  peoples  may  be  proud,  and  Great  Britain  and 
the  L^nited  States  may  both  claim  a  share  in  his  thoughts. 

What  can  be  sweeter,  more  tuneful  to  the  ear,  or  more  soothing  to  the  tired  frame  than  "  The 
Day  is  Done "  1  A  poem  that  appeals  to  the  sympatliies  of  every  nature,  and  seems  in  the  time 
of  care  to  bring  calm  and  rest  and  a  dreamy  sensation  of  repose  that  is  ever  soothing  to  the 
weary  mind. 

THE  DAY  IS  DONE. 


The  day  is  done,  and  the  d.arkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  Night. 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  tillage 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist, 
And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me, 

That  my  soul  cannot  resist  : 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing, 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem. 
Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay. 

That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 
And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters. 
Not  from  the  bards  sublime. 

Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 
Through  the  corridors  of  Time. 

For,  like  strains  of  martial  music. 
Their  mighty  thoughts  suggest 


Life's  endless  toil  and  endeavour ; 
And  to-niglit  I  long  for  rest. 

Kead  from  some  humbler  poet, 

Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer. 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start ; 

'UTio,  through  long  days  of  labour. 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease. 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies. 

Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care. 
And  come  like  the  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer. 

Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

Tlie  poem  of  thy  choice. 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music. 
And  the  cares  tliat  infest  the  day 

Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away. 


To  whom  would  you  go  for  a  poem  at  such  a  time  as  he  has  described  1     WTiere  would  you  find 
the  one  "  whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart  1  ".    The  answer  seems  to  come,  naturally,  in  Long- 


THE   LAYS   OF   LONGFELLOW, 


351 


fellow.     For  where  at  such  a  time  do  we  find  one  who  will  read  and  "  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the 
poet  the  beauty  of  the  voice  1 " 

To  pass  on  to  a  very  different  poem,  few  pictures  could  be  so  solemn  and  yet  so  sweet  as  the 
*'  Burial  of  the  Minnisink." 


On  sunny  slope  and  beechen  swell, 
The  shadowed  light  of  evening  fell ; 
And,  where  the  maple's  leaf  was  brown, 
With  soft  and  silent  lapse  came  down, 
The  glory,  that  the  wood  receives, 
At  sunset,  in  its  brazen  leaves. 


A  dark  cloak  of  the  roebuck's  skin 
Covered  the  warrior,  and  within 
Its  heavy  folds  the  weapons,  made 
For  the  hard  toils  of  war,  were  laid  ; 
The  cuirass,  woven  of  plaited  reeds. 
And  the  broad  belt  of  shells  and  beads. 


The  Burial  of  the  Minnisink.     (Draivn  by  J.  C.  Dollman.) 


-^ar  upward  in  the  mellow  li^ht 

Rose  the  blue  hills.     One  cloud  of  white, 

Around  a  far  uplifted  cone. 

In  the  warm  blush  of  evening  shone  ; 

An  image  of  the  silver  lakes. 

By  which  the  Indian's  soul  awakes. 

But  soon  a  funeral  hymn  was  heard 
"Where  the  soft  breath  of  evening  stirred 
The  tall,  grey  forest ;  and  a  band 
Of  stern  in  heart,  and  strong  in  hand. 
Came  winding  down  beside  the  wave. 
To  lay  the  red  chief  in  his  grave. 

They  sang,  that  by  his  native  bowers 
He  stood,  in  the  last  moon  of  flowers. 
And  thirty  snows  had  not  yet  shed 
Their  glory  on  the  warrior's  head  ; 
But,  as  the  summer  fruit  decays. 
So  died  he  in  those  naked  days. 


Before,  a  dark-haired  virgin  train 
Chanted  the  death  dirge  of  the  slain  ; 
Behind,  the  long  procession  came 
Of  hoary  men  and  chiefs  of  fame. 
With  heavy  hearts,  and  eyes  of  grief, 
Leading  the  war-horse  of  their  chief. 

Stripped  of  his  proud  and  martial  dress, 
Uncurbed,  unreined,  and  riderless, 
With  darting  eye,  and  nostril  spread. 
And  heavy  and  impatient  tread. 
He  came  ;  and  oft  that  eye  so  i^roud 
Asked  for  his  rider  in  the  crowd. 

They  buried  the  dark  chief  ;  they  freed 
Beside  the  grave  his  battle  steed  ; 
And  swift  an  arrow  cleaved  its  way 
To  his  stern  heart  !     One  piercing  neigh 
Arose,  and,  on  the  dead  man's  plain, 
The  rider  grasps  his  steed  again. 


However  English  in   thought  and  word   Longfellow  might  be,  none  but  an  American  of  the 
Americans  could  have  written  that  graceful  poem.    No  man  but  one  who  knew  and  who  had  studied 


352 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


the  Indian  in  his  home  and  ways,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  his  customs,  could  have  pictured 
so  graphically  that  scene  with  its  weird  solemnity  ending  in  the  tragedy  of  the  death  of  the  steed 
sent  to  the  dead  man's  plain  ready,  according  to  the  Indians'  common  belief,  for  his  master  gone  before. 
Ever  familiar,  wedded  as  it  has  been  to  song,  and  sung  in  every  home,  is  that  sweet  old  lesson 
of  simplest  teaching  in  its  honest  purity  of  thought — "The  Village  Blacksmith."  It  is  such  a 
moral  lay  as  a  mother  might  be  glad  to  'teach  the  child  that  hangs  about  her  knee,  and  though 
the  little  one  might  fail  to  catch  some  of  the  subtleties  of  thought  that  the  poet  has  introduced^ 
there  is  enough  and  to  spare  of  the  humble  story  to  interest  the  young  as  well  as  the  old,  and  it  is 
no  vain  prophecy  to  say  that  the  lay  of  him  who  " swung  his  heavy  sledge  with  measured  beat  and 
slow  '  will  be  sung  when  generations  of  men  have  passed  away. 


The  Village   Blacksjiith.     (L>r«ii-H  6y  M-'.  Small.) 


Toiling,  —rejoicing, — sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 


Each  evening  sees  its  close  ; 
Something  attempted,  something  done 
Has  earned  a  niglit's  repose. 


Wliat  a  lover  of  children  must  he  have  been  who  wrote  of  the  little  ones  : — 


For  what  are  all  ovir  contrivings, 
And  the  wisdom  of  our  books, 

WTieii  cbmijared  with  your  caresses, 
And  the  gladness  of  your  looks  ? 


Ye  are  better  than  all  the  ballads 
That  ever  were  sung  or  said  ; 

For  ye  are  living  poems, 
And  all  the  rest  are  dead. 


What  sweet  pathos,  too,  there  is  in  the  opening  verses  of  "  Weariness  "  : — 


O  little  feet  !  that  such  long  years 

Must  wander  on  througli  hopes  and  fears, 

Must  ache  and  bleed  beneath  your  load  ; 
I,  nearer  to  the  wayside  inn 
Wliere  toil  shall  cease  and  rest  begin, 

Am  weary,  thinking  of  your  road  ! 


O  little  hands  !  that,  weak  or  stronf, 
Have  still  to  serve  or  rule  so  long, 

Have  still  so  long  to  give  or  ask  : 
I,  who  so  much  with  book  and  pen 
Have  toiled  among  my  fellow-men, 

Am  weary,  thinking  of  your  task. 


THE   LAYS   OF   LONGFELLOW. 


353- 


And  who  that  has  ever  read  can  well  forget  the  sweet  words  of 

THE    CHILDREN'S    HOUR. 


Between  the  dark  and  the  daylight, 
"When  the  night  is  beginning  to  lower, 

Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations, 
That  is  known  as  the  Children's  Hour. 

I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me 
The  patter  of  little  feet, 


They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  me  by  surprise. 

A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 
A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall  ! 

By  three  doors  left  unguarded 
They  enter  my  castle  wall ! 


King  Christian.     {DrMcn  by  H.  M.  Paget.) 


The  sovmd  of  a  door  that  is  opened. 
And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight, 
Descending  the  broad  hall  stair, 

Grave  Alice,  and  laughing  AUegra, 
And  Edith  with  golden  hair, 

A  whisper,  and  then  a  silence  : 

Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyec 
2  S* 


Tliey  climb  up  into  my  turret 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair  ; 
If  I  try  to  escape  they  surround  me ; 

They  seem  to  be  everywhere. 

They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses, 
Their  arms  about  me  entwine. 

Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen, 
In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhine  ! 


354 


GLEANINGS   FROxM  POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


Do  you  think,  O  blue-eyed  banditti. 
Because  you  have  scaled  the  wall, 

Such  an  old  moustache  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all ! 

I  have  you  fast  in  my  fortress, 
And  ^vill  not  let  you  depart, 


But  put  you  down  into  the  dungeon 
In  the  round-tower  of  my  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever, 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day, 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin. 

And  moulder  in  dust  away  ! 


From  the  calm  and  peace  of  home  we  are  suddenly  transported  to  the  din  of   battle  when 
^'e  read  such  a  stirring  national  song  as 


King  Christian  stood  by  the  lofty  mast 

In  mist  and  smoke  ; 
His  sword  was  hammering  so  fast, 
Through  Gothic  helm  and  brain  it  passed 
Then  sank  each  hostile  hulk  and  mast, 

In  mist  and  smoke. 
" Fly  !  "  shouted  they,  "fly,  he  who  can  ! 
"Who  braves  of  Denmark's  Oliristian 
The  stroke  ? " 


KING    CHRISTIAN. 

North  Sea  !  a  glimpse  of  Wessel  rent 

Thy  murky  sky  ! 
Then  champions  to  thine  arms  were  sent ; 
Terror  and  Death  glared  where  lie  went ; 
From  the  waves  was  heard  a  wail,  that  rent 

Thy  murky  sky ! 
From  Denmark,  thunders  Tordenskiol', 
Let  each  to  Heaven  commend  his  soul. 

And  fly  ! 


Nils  Juel  gave  heed  to  the  tempest's  roar, 

Now  is  the  hour  ! 
He  hoisted  his  blood-red  flag  once  more. 
And  smote  upon  the  foe  full  sore. 
And  shouted  loud,  through  the  tempest's  roar, 

'■  Now  is  the  hour  !  " 
"  Fly  !  "  shouted  they,  "for  shelter  fly  ! 
Of  Denmark's  Juel  who  can  defy 

The  power  ?  " 


Path  of  the  Dane  to  fame  and  might ! 

Dark-rolling  wave  ! 
Receive  thy  friend,  who,  scorning  flight. 
Goes  to  meet  danger  witli  despite, 
Proudly  as  thou  the  tempest's  migli  fc. 

Dark-rolling  wave  ! 
And  amid  pleasures  and  alarms. 
And  war  and  victory,  be  thine  arms 

My  grave  ! 


With  one  more  short  extract  we  will  conclude,  taking  to  ourselves  its  sweet  lesson  of  patience 
and  resignation  to  teach  us  thankfulness  and  content. 


THE    RAINY   DAY. 


The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering  wall. 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weaiy ; 


My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldering  Past, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast. 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart !  and  cease  repining  ; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining  ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all, 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall. 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 


12 


KEBECCA   AND   IVANHOE. 


•THE  SIEQE  OP  TORQUILSTO!^ E"  {p.  865). 


THE   SIEGE    OF   TORQUILSTONE. 


355 


THE     SIEGE     OF     TORQUILSTONE. 

[From  "  Ivanhoe."    By  Sib  Walter  Scott.] 


EBECCA  hastened  to  give  Ivanhoe 
what  information  she  could  ;  but  it 
amounted  only  to  this,  that  the 
Templar  Bois-Guilbert,  and  the  Baron 
Front-de-Boeuf,  were  commanders 
within  the  castle;  that  it  was  be- 
leaguered from  without,  but  by  whom  she 
knew  not.  She  added,  that  there  was  a 
Christian  priest  within  the  castle  who  might  be 
possessed  of  more  information. 

"  A  Christian  priest,"  said  the  knight,  joyfully  ; 
"  fetch  him  hither,  Rebecca,  if  thou  canst — say  a 
sick  man  desires  his  ghostly  counsel — say  what 
thou  wilt,  but  bring  him — something  I  must  do 
or  attempt,  but  how  can  I  determine  until  I  know 
how  matters  stand  without  1 " 

Rebecca,  in  compliance  with  the  wishes  of 
Ivanhoe,  made  an  attempt  to  bring  Cedric  into 
the  wounded  knight's  chamber,  which  was  defeated 
by  the  interference  of  Urfried,  who  had  been  also 
on  the  watch  to  intercept  the  supposed  monk. 
Rebecca  retired  to  communicate  to  Ivanhoe  the 
failure  of  her  errand. 

They  had  not  much  leisure  to  regret  the  failure 
of  this  source  of  intelligence,  or  to  contrive  by 
what  means  it  might  be  supplied  ;  for  the  noise 
within  the  castle,  occasioned  by  the  defensive 
preparations  which  had  been  considerable  for  some 
time,  now  increased  into  tenfold  bustle  and 
clamour.  The  heavy  yet  hasty  step  of  the  men- 
at-arms  traversed  the  battlements  or  resounded  on 
the  narrow  and  winding  passages  and  stairs  which 
led  to  the  various  bartizans  and  points  of  defence. 
The  voices  of  the  knights  were  heard  animating 
their  followers  or  directing  means  of  defence, 
while  their  commands  were  often  drowned  in  the 
clashing  of  armour,  or  the  clamorous  shouts  of 
those  whom  they  addressed.  Tremendous  as  these 
sounds  were,  and  yet  more  terrible  from  the  awful 
event  which  they  presaged,  there  was  a  sublimity 
mixed  with  them  which  Rebecca's  high-toned  mind 
could  feel  even  in  that  moment  of  terror.  Her 
eye  kindled,  although  the  blood  fled  from  her 
cheeks ;  and  there  was  a  strong  mixture  of  fear 
and  of  a  thrilling  sense  of  the  sublime,  as  she 
repeated,  half- whispering  to  herself,  half-speaking 
to  her  companion,  the  sacred  text :  "  The  quiver 
rattleth— the  glittering  spear  and  the  shield — the 
noise  of  the  captains  and  the  shouting." 

But  Ivanhoe  was  like  the  war-horse  of  that 
sublime  passage,  glowing  with  impatience  at  his 
inactivity,  and  with  his  ardent  desire  to  mingle  in 
the  affray  of  which  these  sounds  were  the  intro- 
duction.    "  If  I  could  but  drag  myself,"  he  said, 


"  to  yonder  window,  that  I  might  see  how  this 
brave  game  is  like  to  go — if  I  had  but  bow  to 
shoot  a  shaft,  or  battle-axe  to  strike  were  it  but  a 
single  blow  for  our  deliverance  ! — It  is  in  vain — it 
is  in  vain — I  am  alike  nerveless  and  weaponless." 

"Fret  not  thyself,  noble  knight,"  answered 
Rebecca  ;  "  the  sounds  have  ceased  of  a  sudden — 
it  may  be  they  join  not  battle." 

"  Thou  knowest  nought  of  it,"  said  Wilfrid,  im- 
patiently ;  "  this  dead  pause  only  shows  that  the 
men  are  at  their  posts  on  the  walls,  and  expecting 
an  instant  attack ;  what  we  have  heard  was  but 
the  distant  muttering  of  the  storm — it  will  burst 
anon  in  all  its  fury. — Could  I  but  reach  yonder 
window  ! " 

"  Thou  wilt  but  injure  thyself  by  the  attempt, 
noble  knight,"  replied  his  attendant.  Observing 
his  extreme  solicitude,  she  firmly  added, "  I  myself 
will  stand  at  the  lattice,  and  describe  to  you  as  I 
can  what  passes  without." 

"  You  must  not — you  shall  not  !  "  exclaimed 
Ivanhoe  ;  "  each  lattice,  each  aperture,  will  be 
soon  a  mark  for  the  archers ;  some  random 
shaft " 

"  It  shall  be  welcome,"  murmured  Rebecca,  as 
with  firm  pace  she  ascended  two  or  three  steps 
which  led  to  the  window  of  which  they  spoke. 

"  Rebecca,  dear  Rebecca  ! "  exclaimed  Ivanhoe, 
"  this  is  no  maiden's  pastime — do  not  expose  thy- 
self to  wounds  and  death,  and  render  me  for  ever 
miserable  for  having  given  the  occasion  ;  at  least, 
cover  thyself  with  yonder  ancient  buckler,  and 
show  as  little  of  your  person  at  the  lattice  as  may 
be." 

Following  with  wonderful  promptitude  the 
directions  of  IvanhoCj  and  availing  herself  of  the 
protection  of  the  large  ancient  shield,  which  she 
placed  against  the  lower  part  of  the  window, 
Rebecca,  with  tolerable  security  to  herself,  could 
witness  part  of  what  was  passing  without  the 
castle,  and  report  to  Ivanhoe  the  preparations 
which  the  assailants  were  making  for  the  storm. 
Indeed  the  situation  which  she  thus  obtained  was 
peculiarly  favourable  for  this  purpose,  because, 
being  placed  on  an  angle  of  the  main  building, 
Rebecca  could  not  only  see  what  passed  beyond 
the  precincts  of  the  castle,  but  also  commanded  a 
view  of  the  outwork  likely  to  be  the  first  object  of 
the  meditated  assault.  It  was  an  exterior  fortifi- 
cation of  no  great  height  or  strength,  intended  to 
protect  the  postern-gate  through  which  Cedric  had 
been  recently  dismissed  by  Front-de-Boeuf.  The 
castle  moat  divided  this  species  of  barbican  fronx 
the  rest  of  the  fortress,  so  that,  in  case  of  its  being 


356 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


taken,  it  was  easy  to  cut  off  the  communication 
with  the  main  building,  by  withdrawing  the  tem- 
porary bridge.  In  the  outwork  was  a  sally-port 
corresponding  to  the  postern  of  the  castle,  and  the 
whole  was  surrounded  by  a  strong  palisade. 
Rebecca  could  observe,  from  the  number  of  men 
placed  for  the  defence  of  this  post,  that  the  be- 
sieged entertained  apprehensions  for  its  safety ; 
and  from  the  mustering  of  the  assailants  in  a  direc- 
tion nearly  opposite  to  the  outwork,  it  seemed  no 
less  plain  that  it  had  l>een  selected  as  a  vulnerable 
point  of  attack. 

These  appearances  she  hastily  comnmnicated  to 
Ivanhoe,  and  added,  "  The  skirts  of  the  wood  seem 
lined  with  archers,  although  only  a  few  are 
advanced  from  its  dark  shadow." 

"  Under  what  banner  1  "  asked  Ivanhoe. 

"  Under  no  ensign  of  war  which  I  can  observe," 
answered  Rebecca. 

"A  singular  novelty,"  answered  the  knight,  "to 
advance  to  storm  such  a  castle  without  pennon  or 
banner  displayed. — Seest  thou  who  they  be  that 
act  as  leaders  1 " 

"  A  knight  clad  in  sable  armour  is  the  most  con- 
spicuous," said  the  Jewess ;  "  he  alone  is  armed 
from  head  to  heel,  and  seems  to  assume  the  direc- 
tion of  all  around  him." 

"  What  device  does  he  bear  on  his  shield  ]  " 
replied  Ivanhoe. 

"  Something  resembling  a  bar  of  iron,  and  a  pad- 
lock painted  blue  on  the  black  shield." 

"  A  fetterlock  and  shackle-bolt  azure,"  said  Ivan- 
hoe ;  "  I  know  not  who  may  bear  the  device,  but 
well  I  ween  it  might  now  be  mine  own.  Canst 
thou  not  see  the  motto  ]  " 

"  Scarce  the  device  itself  at  this  distance," 
replied  Rebecca  ;  "  but  when  the  sun  glances  fair 
upon  his  shield,  it  shows  as  I  tell  you." 

"  Seem  there  no  other  leaders  1 "  exclaimed  the 
anxious  inquirer. 

"  None  of  mark  and  distinction  that  I  can  be- 
hold from  this  station,"  said  Rebecca,  "  but  doubt- 
less the  other  side  of  the  castle  is  also  assailed. 
They  seem  even  now  preparing  to  advance. — God 
of  Zion,  protect  us  ! — What  a  dreadful  sight  ! — 
Those  who  advance  first  bear  huge  shields,  and 
defences  made  of  plank  ;  the  others  follow,  bend- 
ing their  bows  as  they  come  on. — They  raise  their 
bows  I — God  of  Moses,  forgive  the  creatures  thou 
ha.st  made  ! " 

Her  description  was  here  suddenly  interrupted 
by  the  signal  for  assault,  which  was  given  by  the 
blast  of  a  shrill  bugle,  and  at  once  answered  by  a 
flourish  of  the  Norman  trumpets  from  the  battle- 
ments, which,  mingled  with  the  deep  and  hollow 
clang  of  the  nakers  (a  species  of  kettle-drum), 
retorted  in  notes  of  defiance  the  challenge  of  the 
enemy.  The  shouts  of  both  parties  augmented  the 
fearful  din,  the  assailants  crying, "  Saint  George  for 


merry  England! "  and  the  Normans  answering  them 
with  cries  of  "^«  avaid  Be  Bracy  ! — Beau-seant ! 
Beau-seaiit  ! — Fmnt-de-B(euf  a  la  rescousse  .' "  ac- 
cording to  the  war-cries  of  their  different  com- 
manders. 

It  was  not,  however,  by  clamour  that  the  contest 
was  to  be  decided,  and  the  desperate  efforts  of  the 
assailants  were  met  by  an  equally  vigorous  defence 
on  the  part  of  the  besieged.  The  archers,  trained 
by  their  woodland  pastimes  to  the  most  effective 
use  of  the  long-bow,  shot,  to  use  the  appropriate 
phrase  of  the  time,  so  "  wholly  together,"  that  no 
point  at  which  a  defender  could  show  the  least 
part  of  his  person  escaped  their  cloth-yard  shafts. 
By  this  heavy  discharge,  which  continued  as  thick 
and  sharp  as  hail,  while,  notwithstanding,  every 
arrow  had  its  individual  aim,  and  flew  by  scores 
together  against  each  embrasure  and  opening  in 
the  parapets,  as  well  as  at  every  window  where  a 
defender  either  occasionally  had  post  or  might  be 
suspected  to  be  stationed, — by  this  sustained  dis- 
charge, two  or  three  of  the  garrison  were  slain,  and 
several  others  wounded.  But,  confident  in  their 
armour  of  proof,  and  in  the  cover  which  their 
situation  afforded,  the  followers  of  Front-de-Boeuf, 
and  his  allies,  showed  an  obstinacy  in  defence 
proportioned  to  the  fury  of  the  attack,  and  replied 
with  the  discharge  of  their  large  cross-bows,  as 
well  as  with  their  long-bows,  slings,  and  other 
missile  weapons,  to  the  close  and  continued  shower 
of  arrows  ;  and,  as  the  assailants  were  necessarily 
but  indifferently  protected,  did  considerably  more 
damage  than  they  received  at  their  hand.  The 
whizzing  of  shafts  and  of  missiles,  on  both  sides, 
was  only  interrupted  by  the  shouts  which  arose 
when  either  side  inflicted  or  sustained  some  notable 
loss. 

"  And  I  must  lie  here  like  a  bed-ridden  monk," 
exclaimed  Ivanhoe, "  while  the  game  that  gives  me 
freedom  or  death  is  played  out  by  the  hand  of 
others  !~Look  from  the  window  once  again,  kind 
maiden,  but  beware  that  you  are  not  marked  by 
the  archers  beneath — Lcok  out  once  more,  and  tell 
me  if  they  yet  advance  to  the  storm." 

With  patient  courage,  strengthened  by  the 
interval  which  she  had  employed  in  mental  devo- 
tion, Rebecca  again  took  post  at  the  lattice,  shelter- 
ing herself,  however,  so  as  not  to  be  visible  from 
beneath. 

"  What  dost  thou  see,  Rebecca?"  again  demanded 
the  wounded  knight. 

"  Nothing  but  the  cloud  of  arrows,  flying  so  thick 
as  to  dazzle  mine  eyes,  and  to  hide  the  bowmen 
who  shoot  them." 

"  That  cannot  endure,"  said  Ivanhoe  ;  "  if  they 
press  not  right  on  to  carry  the  castle  by  pure  force 
of  arms,  the  archery  may  avail  but  little  against 
stone  walls  and  bulwarks.  Look  for  the  knight 
of  the  fetterlock,  fair  Rebecca,  and  see  how  he 


THE   SIEGE   OF  TORQUILSTONE. 


357 


•bears  himself;  for  as  the  leader  is,  so  will  his 
followers  be." 

"  I  see  him  not,"  said  Rebecca. 

"  Foul  craven  ! "  exclaimed  Ivanhoe  ;  "  does  he 
•blench  from  the  helm  when  the  wind  blows 
liighest  ] " 

"  He  blenches  not !  he  blenches  not !  "  said 
Rebecca ;   "  I  see  him  now ;   he  leads  a  body  of 


"  Look  forth  again,  Rebecca,"  said  Ivanhoe,  mis- 
taking the  cause  of  her  retiring ;  "  the  archery  must 
in  some  degree  have  ceased,  since  they  are  now 
fighting  hand  to  hand.  Look  again,  there  is  now 
less  danger." 

Rebecca  again  looked  forth,  and  almost  im- 
mediately exclaimed,  "  Holy  prophets  of  the  law  ! 
Front-de-Boeuf  and  the  Black  Knight  fight  hand 


The  Sieqe.     (Dravm  bi/  J.  Nash.) 


men  close  under  the  outer  barrier  of  the  barbican. — 
They  pull  down  the  piles  and  palisades  ;  they  hew 
down  the  barriers  with  axes — his  high  black  plume 
floats  abroad  over  the  throng,  like  a  raven  over  the 
field  of  the  slain. — They  have  made  a  breach  in 
the  barriers — they  rush  in — they  are  thrust  back  ! 
— Front-de-Boeuf  heads  the  defenders  ;  I  see  his 
gigantic  form  above  the  press.  They  throng  again 
to  the  breach,  and  the  pass  is  disputed  hand  to 
hand  and  man  to  man.  God  of  Jacob  !  it  is  the 
meeting  of  two  fierce  tides — the  conflict  of  two 
oceans  moved  by  adverse  winds." 

She  turned  her  head  from  the  lattice,  as  if  un- 
:^able  longer  to  endure  a  sight  so  terrible. 


to  hand  on  the  breach,  amid  the  roar  of  their 
followers,  who  watch  the  progress  of  the  strife — 
Heaven  strike  with  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  and 
of  the  captive  ! "  She  then  uttered  a  loud  shriek, 
and  exclaimed,  "  He  is  down  ! — he  is  down  ! " 

"  Who  is  down  1 "  cried  Ivanhoe  ;  "  for  our  dear 
Lady's  sake,  tell  me  which  has  fallen  1 " 

"  The  Black  Knight,"  answered  Rebecca,  faintly ; 
then  instantly  again  shouted  with  joyful  eagerness 
— "  But  no — but  no  ! — the  name  of  the  Lord  of 
hosts  be  blessed ! — he  is  on  foot  again,  and  fights 
as  if  there  were  twenty  men's  strength  in  his 
single  arm. — His  sword  is  broken — he  snatches  an 
axe  from  a  yeoman  —  he  presses  Front-de-Bceuf 


4t 


358 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


■with  blow  on  blow— the  giant  stoops  and  totters 
like  an  oak  under  the  steel  of  the  woodman — he 
faUs— hefaUs!" 

"  Front-de-Boeuf '] "  exclaimed  Ivanhoe. 

"Front-de-Boeuf,"  answered  the  Jewess;  "his 
men  rush  to  the  rescue  ;  headed  by  the  haughty- 
Templar — their  united  force  compels  the  champion 
to  pause— they  drag  Front-de-Boeuf  within  the 
waUs." 

"The  assailants  have  won  the  barriers,  have 
they  not  ] "  said  Ivanhoe. 

"They  have— they  have— and  they  press  the 
besieged  hard  upon  the  outer  wall ;  some  plant 
ladders,  some  swarm  like  bees,  and  endeavour  to 
ascend  upon  the  shoulders  of  each  other — down  go 
stones,  beams,  and  trunks  of  trees  upon  their 
heads,  and  as  fast  as  they  bear  the  wounded  to  the 
rear  fresh  men  supply  their  places  in  the  assault. 
Great  God !  hast  thou  given  men  thine  own  image, 
that  it  should  be  thus  cruelly  defaced  by  the  hands 
of  their  brethren  ! " 

"  Think  not  of  that,"  replied  Ivanhoe ;  this  is 
no  time  for  such  thoughts. — Who  yield? — who 
push  their  way  1 " 

"  The  ladders  are  thrown  down,''  replied  Rebecca, 
shuddering;  "the  soldiers  lie  grovelling  under 
them  like  crushed  reptiles — the  besieged  have  the 
better." 


"  St.  George  strike  for  us,"  said  the  knight,  "  do 
the  false  yoemen  give  way  1 " 

"No ! "  exclaimed  Rebecca, "  they  bear  themselves 
right  yeomanly — the  Black  Knight  approaches  the 
postern  with  his  huge  axe — the  thundering  blows 
which  he  deals,  you  may  hear  them  above  all  the 
din  and  shouts  of  the  battle — stones  and  beams  are 
hurled  down  on  the  bold  champion — he  regards 
them  no  more  than  if  they  were  thistle-down  or 
feathers." 

"  By  St.  John  of  Acre,"  said  Ivanhoe,  raising  him- 
self joyfully  on  his  couch,  "methought  there  was  but 
one  man  in  England  that  might  do  such  a  deed." 

"  The  postern  gate  shakes,"  continued  Rebecca  ; 
"it  crashes — it  is  splintered  by  his  blows — they 
rush  in — the  outwork  is  won — they  hurl  the 
defenders  from  the  battlements — they  throw  them 
into  the  moat — O  men,  if  ye  be  indeed  men, 
spare  them  that  can  resist  no  longer  ! " 

"The  bridge — the  bridge  which  communicates 
with  the  castle — have  they  won  that  pass?"  ex- 
claimed Ivanhoe. 

"No,"  replied  Rebecca;  "the  Templar  has 
destroyed  the  plank  on  which  they  crossed — feAv 
of  the  defenders  escaped  with  him  into  the  castle 
— the  shrieks  and  cries  which  you  hear  tell  the 
fate  of  the  others.  Alas  !  I  see  it  is  still  mor& 
difficult  to  look  upon  victory  than  upon  battle." 


NOBLE     POVEETY. 

[By  Laubekce  Sterne.] 


^EFORE  I  had  got  half-way  down  the 
street,  I  changed  my  mind.  "  As 
?)  ^  I  am  at  Versailles,"  thought  I,  "  I 
might  as  well  take  a  view  of  the 
town."  So  I  pulled  the  cord,  and  ordered  the 
coachman  to  drive  round  some  of  the  principal 
streets.  "  I  suppose  the  town  is  not  very  large  1 '' 
said  I.  The  coachman  begged  pardon  for  setting 
me  right,  and  told  me  it  was  very  superb,  and  that 
numbers  of  the  first  dukes,  and  marquises,  and 

counts  had  hotels  :  the  Count  de  B ,  of  whom 

the  bookseller  at  the  Quai  de  Conti  had  spoke  so 


handsomely  the  night  before,  came  instantly  into- 
my  mind.     "  And  why  should  I  not  go,"  thought 

I,  "  to  the  Count  de  B ,  who  has  so  high  an 

idea  of  English  books  and  Englishmen,  and  tell 
him  my  story  1"  So  I  seeing  a  man  standing  with 
a  basket  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  as  if  he 
had  something  to  sell,  I  bid  La  Fleur  go  up  to- 
him  and  inquire  for  the  count's  hotel. 

La  Fleur  returned  a  little  pale  ;  and  told  me  it 
was  a  chevalier  de  St.  Louis  selling  pates.  "  It  is 
impossible,  La  Fleur  ! "  said  I.  La  Fleur  could  no- 
more  account  for  the  phenomenon  than  myself ;  but 


NOBLE   POVERTY. 


359 


f)ersisted  in  liio  story :  he  had  seen  the  croix  set  in 
;gold,  with  its  red  ribbon,  he  said,  tied  to  his 
button-hole ;  and  had  looked  into  the  basket, 
•and  had  seen  the  pates  which  the  chevalier  was 
selling. 

Such  a  reverse  in  a  man's  life  awakens  a  better 
principle  than  curiosity  :  I  got  out  of  the  remise, 
and  went  towards  him. 

He  was  begirt  with  a  clean  linen  apron,  which 
fell  below  his  knees,  and  with  a  sort  of  a  bib  that 
went  half-way  up  his  breast ;  upon  the  top  of  this, 
but  a  little  below  the  hem,  hung  his  croix.  His 
basket  of  little  pates  was  covered  over  with  a  white 
•damask  napkin  :  another  of  the  same  kind  was 
spread  at  the  bottom,  and  there  was  a  look  of 
proprete  and  neatness  throughout,  that  one  might 
have  bought  his,  pates  of  him  as  much  from  appetite 
:as  sentiment. 

He  made  an  offer  of  them  to  neither,  but  stood 
still  with  them  at  the  corner  of  an  hotel,  for  those 
to  buy  who  chose  it,  without  solicitation. 

He  was  about  forty-eight — of  a  sedate  look, 
something  approaching  to  gravity.  I  did  not 
wonder.  I  went  up  rather  to  .the  basket  than  him, 
and  having  lifted  up  the  napkin  and  taken  one  of 
his  pates  in  my  hand,  I  begged  he  would  explain 
the  appearance  which  affected  me. 

He  told  me  in  a  few  words  that  the  best  part 
of  his  life  had  passed  in  the  service,  in  which,  after 
spending  a  small  patrimony,  he  had  obtained  a 
■company,  and  the  croix  with  it ;  but  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  last  peace,  his  regiment  being  re- 
formed, and  the  whole  corps,  with  those  of  some 
other  regiments,  left  without  provision,  he  found 
himself  in  a  large  world  without  friends,  without 
•a  livre — •"  and  indeed,"  said  he,  "  without  anything 
1  at  this  " — pointing  as  he  said  it  to  his  croix. 
The  poor  chevalier  won  my  pity,  and  he  finished 
the  scene  mth  winning  my  esteem  too. 

The  king,  he  said,  was  the  most  generous  of 
princes  ;  but  his  generosity  could  neither  relieve 
nor  reward  every  one,  and  it  was  only  his 
misfortune  to  be  amongst  the  number.  He  had  a 
little  wife,  he  said,  whom  he  loved,  who  did  the 
patisserie;  and  added,  he  felt  no  dishonour  in 
defending  her  and  himself  from  want  in  this  way, 
unless  Providence  had  offered  him  a  better. 

It  would  be  wicked  to  withhold  a  pleasure  from 
the  good,  in  passing  over  what  happened  to  this 
poor  chevalier  of  St.  Louis  about  nine  months 
after. 

It  seems  he  usually  took  his  stand  near  the  iron 
gates  which  led  up  to  the  palace ;  and  as  his  croix 
had  caught  the  eye  of  numbers,  numbers  had  made 
the  same  inquiry  which  I  had  done.  He  told 
them  the  same  story,  and  always  with  so  much 
modesty  and  good  sense,  that  it  had  reached  at  last 
the  king's  ears  ;  who  learning  the  chevalier  had 
been  a  gallant  officer,  and  respected  by  the  whole 


regiment,  broke  up  his  little  trade  by  a  pension  of 
fifteen  hundred  livres  a-year. 

As  I  have  told  this  to  please  the  reader,  I  beg  he 
will  allow  me  to  relate  another,  to  please  myself  : 
the  two  stories  reflect  light  upon  each  other,  and 
'tis  a  pity  they  should  be  parted. 

I  stop  not  to  teU  the  causes  which  gradually 

brought  the  house  of  D'E in  Brittany  into 

decay.      The   Marquis    d'E had   fought   up 

against  his  condition  with  great  firmness,  wishing 
to  preserve  and  still  show  to  the  world  some  little 
fragments  of  what  his  ancestors  had  been — their  in- 
discretions had  put  it  out  of  his  power.  There  was 
enough  left  for  the  little  exigencies  of  obscurity : 
but  he  had  two  boys  who  looked  up  to  him  for 
light — he  thought  they  deserved  it.  He  had  tried 
his  sword — it  could  not  open  the  way — the  mount- 
ing was  too  expensive — and  simple  economy 
was  not  a  match  for  it :  there  was  no  resource 
but  commerce. 

In  any  other  province  in  France  save  Brittany, 
this  was  smiting  the  root  for  ever  of  the  little  tree 
his  pride  and  affection  wished  to  see  re-blossom. 
But  in  Brittany,  there  being  a  provision  for  this,  he 
availed  himself  of  it ;  and  taking  an  occasion  when 
the  states  were  assembled  at  Bennes,  the  marquis, 
attended  with  his  two  boys,  entered  the  court ;  and 
having  pleaded  the  right  of  an  ancient  law  of  the 
duchy,  which,  though  seldom  claimed,  he  said,  was 
no  less  in  force,  he  took  his  sword  from  his  side  : 
"  Here,"  said  he,  "  take  it ;  and  be  trusty  guardians 
of  it  till  better  times  put  me  in  condition  to 
reclaim  it." 

The  president  accepted  the  marquis's  sword — he 
stayed  a  few  minutes  to  see  it  deposited  in 
the  archives  of  his  house,  and  departed. 

The  marquis  and  his  whole  family  embarked  the 
next  day  for  Martinique ;  and  in  about  nineteen 
or  twenty  years  of  successful  application  to  busi- 
ness— with  some  unlooked-for  bequests  from  dis- 
tant branches  of  his  house — returned  home  to 
reclaim  his  nobility  and  to  support  it. 

It  was  an  incident  of  good  fortune  which  will 
never  happen  to  any  traveller  but  a  sentimental  one, 
that  I  should  be  at  Bennes  at  the  very  time  of  this 
solemn  requisition  :  I  call  it  solemn — it  was  so  to  me. 

The  marquis  entered  the  court  with  his  whole 
family  :  he  supported  his  lady— his  eldest  son 
supported  his  sister,  and  his  youngest  was  at  the 
other  extreme  of  the  line  next  his  mother.  He 
put  his  handkerchief  to  his  face  twice. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  When  the  marquis  had ' 
approached  within  six  paces  of  the  tribunal,  he  gave 
the  marchioness  to  his  youngest  son,  and,  advanc- 
ing three  steps  before  his  family,  he  reclaimed  his 
sword.  His  sword  was  given  him,  and  the  moment 
he  got  it  into  his  hand  he  drew  it  almost  out  of 
the  scabbard  :  'twas  the  shining  face  of  a  friend  he 
had  once  given  up — he  looked  attentively  along  it. 


360 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


beginning  at  the  hilt,  as  if  to  see  whether  it  was 
the  same,  when  observing  a  little  rust  which  it  had 
contracted  near  the  point,  he  brought  it  near 
his  eye,  and  bending  his  head  down  over  it,  I 
think  I  saw  a  tear  fall  upon  the  place  :  I  could  not 
be  deceived  by  what  followed. 


"  I  shall  find,"  said  he,  "some  other  way  toget  it  off."" 

When  the  marquis  had  said  this,  he  returnee^ 

his  sword  into  its  scabbard,  made  a  bow  to  the 

guardian  of  it ;  and,  with  his  wife  and  daughter- 

and  his  two  sons  following  him,  walked  out. 

Oh,  how  I  envied  him  his  feelings  ! 


MAZEPPA'S    PUNISHMENT. 

[By  Lord  Bteon.] 


RING  forth  the 
horse !  " — the 
horse  was 
brought ; 
In  truth  he 
was  a  noble 
steed, 

A  Tartar  of 
the  Ukraine 
breed, 

Who  look'd  as 
though      the 
speed      of 
thought 
Were    in    his 
Umbs  ;     but 
he  was  wHd, 
Wild  as  the  wild  deer,  and  untaught. 
With  spur  and  bridle  undefil'd — 

'Twas  but  a  day  he  had  been  caught ; 
And  snorting  with  erected  mane, 
And  struggling  fiercely  but  in  vain, 
In  the  full  foam  of  wrath  and  dread 
To  me  the  desert-born  was  led  : 
They  bound  me  on,  that  menial  throng, 
Upon  his  back  with  many  a  thong  ; 
Then  loosed  him  with  a  sudden  lash — 
Away  ! — away  ! — and  on  we  dash  ! 
Torrents  less  rapid  and  less  rash. 

Away  ! — away  ! — My  breath  was  gone ; 
I  saw  not  where  he  hurried  on  : 
^rwas  scarcely  yet  the  break  of  day, 
And  on  he  foam'd — away ! — away ! 
The  last  of  human  sounds  which  rose, 
As  I  was  darted  from  my  foes. 
Was  the  wild  shout  of  savage  laughter ; 
W'lich  on  the  wind  came  roaring  after 
A  moment  from  that  rabble  rout : 
With  sudden  wrath  I  wrench'd  my  head. 
And  snapp'd  the  cord,  which  to  the  inane 
Had  bound  my  neck  in  lieu  of  rein  ; 
And,  writhing  half  my  form  about, 
HowI'd  back  my  curse ;  but  midst  the  tread, 
The  thunder  of  my  courser's  speed, 


Perchance  they  did  not  hear  nor  heed  ; 
It  vexes  me — for  I  would  fain 
Have  paid  their  insult  back  again. 
I  paid  it  well  in  after  days  : 
There  is  not  of  that  castle  gate, 
Its  drawbridge  and  portcuUis'  weight, 
Stone,  bar,  moat,  bridge,  or  barrier  left, 
Nor  of  its  fields  a  blade  of  grass. 

Save  what  grows  on  a  ridge  of  wall 

Where  stood  tlie  hearth-stone  of  the  hall  f 
And  many  a  time  ye  there  might  pass, 
Nor  dream  that  e'er  that  fortress  was  : 
I  saw  its  turrets  in  a  blaze. 
Their  crackling  battlements  all  cleft, 

And  the  hot  lead  pour  down  like  rain 
From  off  the  scorch'd  and  blackening  roof, 
Whose  thickness  was  not  vengeance-proof. 

They  little  thought  that  day  of  pain. 
When  launch'd,  as  on  the  lightning's  flashy 
They  bade  me  to  destruction  dash. 

That  one  day  I  should  come  again. 
With  twice  five  thousand  horse,  to  thank 

The  Count  for  his  uncourteous  ride. 
They  play'd  me  then  a  bitter  prank, 

When  with  the  wild  horse  for  my  guide, 
They  bound  me  to  his  foaming  flank  ; 
At  length  I  play'd  them  one  as  frank — 
For  time  at  last  sets  all  things  even — 

And  if  we  do  but  watch  the  hour. 

There  never  yet  was  human  power 
Which  could  evade,  if  unforgiven, 
The  patient  search  and  vigil  long 
Of  him  who  treasures  up  a  wrong. 
Away,  away,  my  steed  and  I, 

Upon  the  pinions  of  the  wind. 

All  human  dwellings  left  behind ; 
We  sped  like  meteors  through  the  sky. 
When  with  its  crackling  sound  the  night 
Is  chequer'd  with  the  northern  light ; 
Town — village — none  were  on  our  track, 

But  a  wild  plain  of  far  extent, 
And  bounded  by  a  forest  black  ; 

And,  save  the  scarce  seen  battlement 
On  distant  heights  of  some  stronghold. 
Against  the  Tartars  built  of  old, 


MAZEPPA'S   PUNISHMENT. 


361 


No  trace  of  man.    The  year  before 
A  Turkish  army  had  march'd  o'er  ; 
And  where  the  Spahi's  hoof,  hath  trod, 
The  verdure  flies  the  bloody  sod  : — 
The  sky  was  duU,  and  dim,  and  gi'ey, 
And  a  low  breeze  crept  moaning  by— 
I  could  have  answer'd  with  a  sigh — 
But  fast  we  fled  away,  away — 
And  I  could  neither  sigh  nor  pray ; 
And  my  cold  sweat-drops  fell  like  rain 
Upon  the  courser's  bristling  mane ; 


We  neai-'d  the  wild  wood — 'twas  so  wide, 
I  saw  no  bounds  on  either  side  ; 
'Twas  studded  with  old  sturdy  trees. 
That  bent  not  to  the  roughest  breeze 
Which  howls  down  from  Siberia's  waste, 
.  And  strips  the  forest  in  its  haste, — 
But  these  were  few  and  far  betAveen, 
Set  thick  with  shrubs  more  young  and  green, 
Luxuriant  with  their  annual  leaves, 
Ere  strown  by  those  autumnal  eves 
That  nip  the  forest's  foliage  dead, 


Mazeppa's  Bide.     (Draivn  by  J.  Nash.) 


But  snorting  still  with  rage  and  fear, 
He  flew  upon  his  far  career  : 
At  times  I  almost  thought,  indeed. 
He  must  have  slacken'd  in  his  speed  ; 
But  no — my  bound  and  slender  frame 

Was  nothing  to  his  angry  might, 
And  merely  like  a  spur  became  ; 
Each  motion  which  I  made  to  free 
My  swollen  limbs  from  agony 

Increas'd  his  fury  and  affright ; 
I  tried  my  voice, — 'twas  faint  and  low. 
But  yet  he  swerved  as  from  a  blow  ; 
And,  starting  to  each  accent,  sprang 
As  from  a  sudden  trumpet's  clang. 
Meantime  my  cords  were  wet  with  gore, 
Which,  oozing  through  my  limbs,  ran  o'er ; 
And  in  my  tongue  the  thirst  becatae 
A  something  fierier  far  than  flame. 
2t 


Discolour'd  with  a  lifeless  red. 
Which  stands  thereon  like  stiffened  gore 
Upon  the  slain  when  battle's  o'er, 
And  some  long  winter's  night  hath  shed 
Its  frost  o'er  every  tombless  head. 
So  cold  and  stark  the  raven's  beak 
May  peck  unpierc'd  each  frozen  cheek  : 
'Twas  a  wild  waste  of  underwood, 
And  here  and  there  a  chestnut  stood, 
The  strong  oak  and  the  hardy  pine  ; 

But  far  apart — and  well  it  were, 
Or  else  a  different  lot  were  mine — 

The -boughs  gave  way  and  did  not  tear 
My  limbs  ;  and  I  found  strength  to  bear 
My  wounds,  already  scarr'd  with  cold — 
My  bonds  forbade  to  loose  my  hold. 
We  rustled  through  the  leaves  like  wind, 
Left  shrubs,  and  trees,  and  wolves  behind  j 


3€2 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


By  uight  I  heard  them  on  the  track, 
Their  troop  came  hard  upon  our  back, 
With  their  long  gallop  which  can  tire 
The  hound's  deep  hate,  and  hunter's  fire  ; 
Where'er  we  flew  they  follow'd  on, 
Nor  left  us  with  the  morning  sun  ; 
Behind  I  saw  them,  scarce  a  rood, 
At  day-break  winding  through  the  wood. 
And  through    the    uight  had    heard   their 

feet 
Their  stealing,  rustling  step  repeat. 
Oh  !  how  I  wish'd  for  spear  or  sword, 
At  least  to  die  amidst  the  horde, 
And  perish — if  it  must  be  so — 
At  bay,  destroying  many  a  foe. 
When  fii*st  my  courser's  race  begun, 
I  wish'd  the  goal  already  won  ; 
But  now  I  doubted  strength  and  speed  : 
Vain  doubt !  his  swift  and  savage  breed 
Had  nerv'd  him  like  the  mountain  roe  ; 
Nor  faster  falls  the  blinding  snow 
Which  whelms  the  peasant  near  the  door, 
Whose  threshold  he  shall  cross  no  more, 
Bewilder'd  with  the  dazzling  blast. 
Than  through  the  forest-paths  he  past — 
Untir'd,  untam'd,  and  worse  than  wild  ; 
All  furious  as  a  favour'd  child 
Baulk'd  of  its  wish ;  or  fiercer  still — 
A  woman  piqued — who  has  her  will 


The  wood  was  past ;  'twas  more  than  nooii. 
But  chill  the  air,  although  in  June  ; 
Or  it  might  be  my  veins  ran  cold — 
Prolong'd  endurance  tames  the  bold; 
And  I  was  then  not  what  I  seem, 
But  headlong  as  the  wintry  stream. 
And  wore  my  feelings  out  before 
I  well  could  count  their  causes  o'er  ; 
And  what  with  fury,  fear,  and  wrath. 
The  tortures  which  beset  my  path. 
Cold,  hunger,  sorrow,  shame,  distress. 
Thus  bound  in  nature's  nakedness  : 
Sprung  from  a  race,  whose  rising  blood 
When  stirr'd  beyond  its  calmer  mood, 
And  trodden  hard  upon,  is  like 
The  rattlesnake's,  in  act  to  strike  ; 
What  marvel  if  this  worn-out  trunk 
Beneath  its  woes  a  moment  sunk  1 
The  earth  gave  way,  the  skies  roll'd  round, 
I  seem'd  to  sink  upon  the  ground  : 
But  err'd,  for  I  was  fastly  bound, 
;My  heart  turn'd  sick,  my  brain  grew  sore, 
And  throbb'd  awhile,  then  beat  no  more  ; 
The  skies  spun  like  a  mighty  wheel ; 
I  saw  the  trees  like  drunkards  reel. 
And  a  slight  flash  sprang  o'er  my  eyes, 
Which  saw  no  farther  ;  he  who  dies 
Can  die  no  more  thin  then  I  died, 
O'ertortur'd  by  that  ghastly  ride. 


STEIKING    ILE. 

[Prom  "  The  Golden  Butterfly."    By  Walter  Besant  and  James  Eice.] 


WENT  oflF,  after  I  left  you,  by  the  Pacific 
Railway— not  the  first  time  I  travelled  up 
and  down  that  line — and  I  landed  in  New 
York.  Mr.  Colquhoun  gave  me  a  rig  out, 
and  you,  sir  " — he  nodded  to  Jack — "  you, 
sir,  gave  me  the  stamps  to  pay  the  ticket." 

Jack,  accused  of  this  act  of  benevolence,  naturally 
blushed  a  guilty  acknowledgment. 

Mr.  Gilead  P.  Beck  made  no  reference  to  the  gift 
either  then  or  at  any  subsequent  period.  Nor  did 
he  ever  offer  to  repay  it,  even  when  he  discovered 
the  slenderness  of  Jack's  resources.  That  showed 
that  he  was  a  sensitive  and  sympathetic  man.  To 
offer  a  small  sum  of  money  in  repayment  of  a  free 
gift  from  an  extraordinarily  rich  man  to  a  very 
poor  one  is  not  a  delicate  thing  to  do.  Therefore 
this  gentleman  of  the  backwoods  abstained  from 
doing  it. 

"New  York  City,"  he  continued,  "is  not  the 
village  I  should  recommend  to  a  man  without 
dollars  in  his  pocket.  London,  where  there  is  an 
institootionj  or  a  charity,  or  a  hospital,  or  a  work- 


house, or  a  hot-soup  boiler  in  every  street,  is  the 
place  for  that  gentleman.  Fiji,  p'r'aps,  for  one  who 
has  a  yearning  after  bananas  and  black  civilisation. 
But  not  New  York.  No,  gentlemen  ;  if  you  go  to 
New  York,  let  it  be  when  you've  made  ^our  pile, 
and  not  before.  Then  you  will  find  out  that  there 
air  thirty  theatres  in  the  city,  with  lovely  and 
accomplished  actresses  in  each,  and  you  can  walk 
into  Delmonico's  as  if  the  place  belonged  to  you. 
But  for  men  down  on  their  luck.  New  York  is  a 
cruel  place. 

"  I  left  that  city,  and  I  made  my  way  north.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  old  folks  I  left  behind  long  ago 
in  Lexington  ;  I  found  them  dead,  and  I  was  sorry. 
Then  I  went  farther  north.  P'r'aps  I  was  driven 
by  the  yellow  toy  hanging  at  my  back.  Anyhow 
it  was  only  six  weeks  after  I  left  you  that  I  found 
myself  in  the  city  of  Limerick  on  Lake  Ontario. 

"  You  do  not  know  the  city  of  Limerick,  I  dare 
say.  It  was  not  famous,  nor  was  it  pretty.  In 
fact,  gentlemen,  it  was  the  most  misbegotten  loca- 
tion built  around  a  swamp  that  ever  called  itself 


STRIKING   ILE. 


363 


a  city.  There  were  a  few  delooded  farmers  trying 
to  persuade  themselves  that  things  Avould  look  up  ; 
there  were  a  few  downhearted  settlers  wondering 
why  they  ever  came  there,  and  how  they  would  get 
out  again  ;  and  there  were  a  few  log-houses  in  a 
row  which  called  themselves  a  street. 

"  I  got  there,  and  I  stayed  there.  Their  carpenter 
was  dead,  and  I  am  a  handy  man  ;  so  I  took  his 
place.  Then  I  made  a  few  dollars  doing  chores 
around." 

"  What  are  chores  ?  " 

"All  sorts.  The  clocks  were  out  of  repair  ;  the 
handles  were  coining  oft"  the  pails  ;  the  chairs  were 
without  legs  ;  the  pump-handle  crank ;  the  very 
bell-rope  in  the  meetin'-house  was  broken.  You 
never  saw  such  a  helpless  lot.  I  did  not  stay 
among  them  because  I  loved  them,  but  because  I 
saw  things." 

"  Ghosts  ? "  asked  Ladds,  still  with  an  eye  to  the 
supernatural. 

"  No,  sir.  That  was  what  they  thought  I  saw 
when  I  went  prowding  around  by  myself  of  an 
evening.  They  thought  too  that  I  was  mad  when 
I  began  to  buy  the  land.  You  could  buy  it  for 
nothing  ;  a  dollar  an  acre  ;  half  a  dollar  an  acre  ; 
anything  an  acre.  I've  mended  a  cart-wheel  for  a 
five-acre  lot  of  swamp.  They  laughed  at  me.  The 
children  used  to  cry  out  when  I  passed  along, 
'  There  goes  mad  Beck.'  But  I  bought  all  I  could, 
and  my  only  regret  was  that  I  couldn't  buy  up  the 
hull  township — clear  off  men,  women,  and  children, 
and  start  afresh.  Some  more  champagne,  Mr. 
Dunquerque." 

"  What  was  the  Golden  Butterfly  doing  all  this 
time  1  "  asked  Ladds. 

"That  faithful  inseck,  sir,  was  hanging  around 
my  neck,  as  when  you  were  first  introduced  to  him. 
He  was  wdiisperin'  and  eggin'  me  on,  because  he 
was  bound  to  fulfil  the  old  squaw's  prophecy. 
Without  my  knowing  it,  sir,  that  prodigy  of  the 
world,  who  is  as  alive-  as  you  air  at  this  moment, 
will  go  on  whisperin'  till  such  time  as  the  rope's 
played  out  and  the  smash  comes.  Then  he'll  be 
silent  again." 

He  spoke  with  a  solemn  earnestness  which  im- 
pressed his  hearers.  They  looked  at  the  fire-proof 
safe  with  a  feeling  that  at  any  moment  the  metallic 
insect  might  open  the  door,  fly  forth,  and,  after 
hovering  round  the  room,  light  at  Mr.  Beck's  ear, 
and  begin  to  whisper  words  of  counsel.  Did  not 
Mohammed  have  a  pigeon?  and  did  not  Louis 
Napoleon  at  Boulogne  have  an  eagle  1  Why  should 
not  Mr.  Beck  have  a  butterfly. 

"The  citizens  of  Limerick,  gentlemen,  in  that 
dismal  part  of  Canada  where  they  bewail  their 
miserable  lives,  air  not  a  people  who  have  eyes  to 
see,  ears  to  hear,  or  brains  to  understand.  I  saw 
that  they  were  walking — no,  sleeping — over  fields 
of  incalculable  wealth,  and  they  never  suspected. 


They  smoked  their  pipes  and  ate  their  pork.  But 
they  never  saw  and  they  never  suspected.  Between 
whiles  they  praised  the  Lord  for  sending  them  a 
fool  like  me,  something  to  talk  about  and  some- 
body to  laugh  at.  They  wanted  to  know  what  was 
in  the  little  box  ;  they  sent  children  to  peep  in  at 
my  window  of  an  evening  and  report  what  I  was 
doing.  They  reported  that  I  was  always  doing  the 
same  thing  ;  always  with  a  map  of  Limerick  City 
and  its  picturesque  and  interestin'  suburbs,  staking 
out  the  ground  and  reckoning  up  my  acres.  That's 
what  I  did  at  night.  And  in  the  morning  I  looked 
about  me  and  wondered  where  I  should  begin." 

"  What  did  you  see  when  you  looked  about  1 " 

"  I  saw,  sir,  a,  barren  bog.  If  it  had  been  a  land 
as  fertile  as  the  land  of  Canaan,  that  would  not 
have  made  my  heart  to  bound  as  it  did  bound  when 
I  looked  across  that  swamp  ;  for  I  never  was  a 
tiller  or  a  lover  of  the  soil.  A  barren  bog  it  was. 
The  barrenest,  boggiest  part  of  it  all  was  my  claim  ; 
when  the  natives  spoke  of  it  they  called  it  Beck's 
Farm,  and  then  the  poor  critturs  squirmed  in  their 
chairs  and  laughed.  Yes,  they  laughed.  Beck's 
Farm,  they  said.  It  was  the  only  thing  they  had 
to  laugh  about.  Wall,  up  and  down  the  face  of 
that  almighty  bog  there  ran  creeks,  and  after  rainy 
weather  the  water  stood  about  on  the  morasses. 
Plenty  of  water,  but,  a  curious  thing,  none  of  it 
fit  to  drink  :  no  living  thing  except  man  would 
set  his  lips  to  that  brackish,  bad-smelling  water. 
And  that  wasn't  all ;  sometimes  a  thick  black  slime 
rose  to  the  surface  of  the  marsh  and  lay  there  an 
inch  thick ;  sometimes  you  came  upon  patches  of 
'  gum-beds '  as  they  called  them,  where  the  ground 
was  like  tar,  and  smelt  strong.  That  is  what  I  saw 
when  I  looked  around,  sir.  And  to  think  that 
those  poor  mean  pork-raisers  saw  it  all  the  same  as 
I  did  and  never  suspected  !  Only  cursed  the  gifts 
of  the  Lord  when  they  weren't  laughing  at  Beck's 
Farm." 

"  And  you  found— what  ?   Gold  1 " 

"  No ;  I  found  what  I  expected.  And  that  w^as 
better  than  gold.  Mind,  I  say  nothing  against 
gold.  Gold  has  made  many  a  pretty  little  for- 
tune  " 

"Little!" 

"  Little,  sir.  There's  no  big  fortunes  made  out 
of  gold.  Though  many  a  pretty  villa-location,  with 
a  tidy  flower-garden,  up  and  down  the  States,  is 
built  out  of  the  gold-mines.  Dimonds  again.  One 
or  two  men  likes  the  name  of  dimonds ;  but  not 
many.  There's  the  disadvantage  about  gold  and 
dimonds  that  you  have  to  dig  for  them,  and  to  dig 
hard,  and  to  dig  by  yourself  mostly.  Americans 
do  not  love  digging.  It  is  the  only  occupation 
that  they  air  ashamed  of.  Then  there's  iron,  and 
there's  coals  ;  but  you've  got  to  dig  for  them. 
This  great  airth  holds  a  hundred  things  covered 
up  for  them  who  know  how  to  look  and  do  not 


364 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


mind  digging.  But,  gentlemen,  the  greatest  gift 
the  airth  has  to  bestow  she  gave  to  me — abundant, 
spontaneous,  etarnal,  without  bottom,  and  free." 

"And  that  is " 

"  It  is  ILE." 

*  *  *  *  * 

"  It  is  nearly  a  year  since  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
begin  my  well.  I  kneiv  it  Avas  there,  because  I'd 
been  in  Pennsylvania  and  learned  the  signs  ;  it 
was  only  the  question  whether  I  should  strike  it, 
and  where.  The  neighbours  thought  I  was  digging 
for  water,  and  figured  around  with  their  superior 


"Ladd's  Cocoa,  the  only  perfect  fragrance." 

"Shut  up,  Ladds,"  growled  Jack  ;  "don't  inter- 
rupt." 

"  I  say,  to  you  two  young  aristocrats  a  farmer's 
dinner  in  that  township  Avould  not  sound  luxurious. 
Mine  consisted,  on  that  day  and  all  days,  of  cold 
boiled  pork  and  bread." 

"  Ah,  yah  ! "  said  Jack  Dunquerque,  who  had  a 
proud  stomach. 

"  Yes,  sir,  my  own  remark  every  day  when  I  sat 
down  to  that  simple  banquet.  But  when  you  are 
hungry  you  must  eat,  murmur  though  you  will  for 


"The  NEiGUBOiKS  tuoc(.ht  I  was  dk.oino  fok  w  mmi  ' 


intellecks,  because  they  were  certain  that  the 
water  would  be  brackish.  Then  they  got  tired 
of  watching,  and  I  worked  on.  Boring  a  well  is 
not  quite  the  sort  of  work  a  man  would  select  for 
a  pleasant  and  variegated  occupation.  I  reckon 
it's  monotonous  ;  but  I  worked  on.  I  knew  what 
was  coming  ;  I  thought  o'  that  Indian  squaw,  and 
I  always  had  my  Golden  Butterfly  tied  in  a  box 
at  my  back.  I  bored  and  I  bored.  Day  after 
day  I  bored.  In  that  lonely  miasmatic  bog  I 
bored  all  day  and  best  part  of  the  night.  For 
nothing  came,  and  sometimes  qualms  crossed  my 
mind  that  perhaps  there  would  never  be  anything. 
But  always  there  was  the  gummy  mud,  smelling  of 
what  I  knew  was  below,  to  lead  me  on. 

"  It  was  the  ninth  day,  and  noon.  I  had  a  shanty 
called  the  farmhouse,  about  a  hundred  yards  from 
my  well  And  there  I  was  taking  my  dinner.  To 
you  two  young  English  aristocrats " 


Egyptian  flesh-pots.  Cold  pork  was  my  dinner, 
with  bread.  And  the  water  to  wash  it  down  with 
was  brackish." 

"And  while  you  were  eating  the  pork,"  said 
Ladds,  "  the  Golden  Butterfly  flew  down  the  shaft 
by  himself,  and  struck  oil  of  his  own  accord." 

"  No  sir ;  for  once  you  are  wrong.  That  most 
beautiful  creation  of  Nature  in  her  sweetest  mood 
— she  must  have  got  up  with  the  sun  on  a  fine 
summer  morning — was  reposing  in  his  box  round 
my  neck  as  usual.  He  did  not  go  down  the 
shaft  at  all.  Nobody  went  down.  But  some- 
thing came  up — up  like  a  fountain,  up  like 
the  bubbling  over  of  the  airth's  eternal  teapot ;  a 
black  muddy  jet  of  stuff.  Great  sun  !  I  think  I 
see  it  now." 

He  paused  and  sighed. 

"  It  was  nearly  all  He,  pure  and  unadulterated, 
from  the  world's  workshop.    Would  you  believe  it, 


STRIKING   ILE. 


365 


gentlemen  1  There  were  not  enough  bar'ls,  not  by 
hundreds,  in  the  neighbourhood  all  round  Limerick 
City,  to  catch  that  He.  It  flowed  in  a  stream  three 
feet  deep  down  the  creek  ;  it  was  carried  away  into 
,  the  lake  and  lost ;  it  ran  free  and  uninterrupted 
for  three  days  and  three  nights.  We  saved  what 
we  could.  The  neighbours  brought  their,  pails, 
their  buckets,  their  basins,  their  kettles  ;  there  was 
not  a  utensil  of  any  kind  that  was  not  filled  with 
He,  from  the  pig's  trough  to  the  child's  pap-bowl. 
Not  one.  It  ran  and  it  ran.  When  the  first  flow 
subsided  we  calculated  that  seven  millions  of  bar'ls 


messing.  That  was  why  the  He  ran  away  and  was 
lost  while  I  ate  the  cold  boiled  pork.  Perhaps  it's 
an  interestin'  fact  that  I  never  liked  cold  boiled 
pork  before,  and  I  have  hated  it  ever  since. 

"  The  great  spurt  subsided,  and  we  went  to  work  in 
earnest.  That  well  has  continued  to  yield  five  hun- 
dred bar'ls  daily.  That  is  four  thousand  five  hundred 
dollars  in  my  pocket  every  four  and  twenty  hours." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  your  income  is  nine  hundred 
pounds  a  day  1 "  asked  Jack. 

"  I  do,  sir.  You  go  your  pile  on  that.  It  is  more, 
but  I  do  not  know  how  much  more.     Perhaps  it's 


"The  keighbodrs  bkouqht  their  pails,  their  buckets,  theie  basins,  their  kettles." 


had  been  wasted  and  lost.  Seven  millions  !  I  am 
a  Christian  man,  and  grateful  to  the  Butterfly,  but 
I  sometimes  repine  when  I  think  of  that  wasted 
lie.  Every  bar'l  worth  nine  dollars  at  least,  and 
most  likely  ten.  Sixty-three  millions  of  dollars. 
Twelve  millions  of  pounds  sterling  lost  in  three 
days  for  want  of  a  few  coopers !  Did  you  ever 
think,  Mr.  Dunquerque,  what  you  could  do  with 
twelve  millions  sterling  ? " 

"I  never  did,"  said  Jack.  "My  imagination 
never  got  beyond  thousands." 

"  With  twelve  millions  I  might  have  bought  up 
the  daily  press  of  England,  and  made  you  all 
republicans  in  a  month.  I  might  have  made  the 
Panama  Canal ;  I  might  have  bought  Palesteen 
and  sent  the  Jews  back  ;  I  might  have  given 
America  fifty  ironclads ;  I  might  have  put  Don 
Carlos  on  the  throne  of  Spain.  But  it  warn't  to 
be.     Providence  wants   no  rivals,  meddling  and 


twice  as  much.  There  are  wells  of  mine  sunk  all 
over  the  place  ;  the  swamp  is  covered  with  Gilead 
P.  Beck's  derricks.  The  township  of  Limerick  has 
become  the  city  of  Rockoleaville — my  name,  that 
was — and  a  virtuous  and  industrious  population 
are  all  engaged  morning,  noon,  and  night  in  fillin' 
my  pails.  There's  twenty-five  bars,  I  believe,  at 
this  moment.  There  are  three  meetin'-houses  and 
two  daily  papers,  and  there  air  fifteen  lawyers." 

"  But  the  oil  may  run  dry." 

"  It  has  run  dry  in  Pennsylvania.  That  is  so, 
and  I  do  not  deny  it.  But  He  will  not  run  dry  in 
Rockoleaville.  I  have  been  thinking  over  the  geo- 
logical problem,  and  I  have  solved  it,  all  by  my- 
self.    What  is  this  world,  gentlemen  ? " 

"  A  round  ball,"  said  Jack,  with  the  promptitude 
of  a  Board  schoolboy  and  the  profundity  of  a  Wool- 
wich cadet. 

"  Sir,  it  is  like  a  great  orange.    It  has  its  outer 


366 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


rind,  what  they  call  the  crust.  Get  through  that 
crust,  and  what  do  you  find  1 " 

'•More  crust,"  replied  Ladds,  who  was  not  a 
competition-wallah. 

"  Did  you  ever  eat  pumjikin-pie,  sir  1 "  Mr.  Beck 
replied,  7nore  Socratico,  by  asking  another  question. 
"  And  if  you  did,  was  your  pie  all  criist  ]  Inside 
that  pie,  sir,  was  pumpkin,  apple,  and  juice.  So 
inside  the  rind  of  the  earth  there  may  be  all  sorts 
of  things  :  gold  and  iron,  lava,  diamonds,  coals  ; 
but  the  juice,  the  pie-juice,  is  He.  You  tap  the 
rind  and  you  get  the  He.  This  He  will  run,  I 
calculate,  for  five  thousand  and  fifty-two  years,  if 
they  don't  sinfully  waste  it,  at  an  annual  consump- 
tion of  eighteen  million  bar'Is.     Now  that's  a  low 


estimate  when  you  consider  the  progress  of  civili- 
sation. When  it  is  all  gone,  perhaps  before,  this 
poor  old  airth  will  crack  up  like  an  empty  egg." 

This  was  an  entirely  new  view  of  geology,  and  it 
required  time  for  Mr.  Beck's  hearers  to  grasp  the 
truth  thus  presented  to  their  minds.  They  were 
silent. 

"  At  Rockoleayille,"  he  went  on,  "  I've  got  the 
pipe  straight  into  the  middle  of  the  pie,  and  right 
through  the  crust.  There's  no  mistake  about  that 
main  shaft.  Other  mines  may  give  out,  but  my  He 
will  run  for  ever." 

"  Then  we  may  congratixlate  you,"  said  Jack> 
"on  the  possession  of  a  boundless  fortune." 

"  You  may,  sir." 


BAEDELL     AGAINST     PICKWICK. 

[From  "  The  Pickwick  Papers."    By  Charles  Dickers.] 


'R.  JUSTICE  STARELEIGH  was 
a  most  particularly  short  man,  and 
so  fat,  that  he  seemed  all  face  and 
waistcoat.  '  He  rolled  in,  upon 
two  little  turned  legs,  and  having 
bobbed  gravely  to  the  bar,  who  bobbed  gravely  to 
him,  put  his  little  legs  underneath  his  table,  and 
his  little  three-cornered  hat  ujwn  it ;  and  when 
Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh  had  done  this,  all  you  could 
see  of  hira  was  two  queer  little  eyes,  one  broad 
pink  face,  and  somewhere  about  half  of  a  big  and 
very  comical-looking  wig. 

The  judge  had  no  sooner  taken  his  seat,  than 
the  officer  on  the  floor  of  the  court  called  out 
"  Silence  ! "  in  a  commanding  tone,  upon  which 
another  officer  in  the  gallery  cried  "  Silence  ! "  in 
an  angry  manner,  whereupon  three  or  four  more 
ushers  shouted  "  Silence  1 "  in  a  voice  of  indignant 
remonstrance.  This  being  done,  a  gentleman  in 
black,  who  sat  below  the  judge,  proceeded  to  call 
over  the  names  of  the  jury  ;  and,  after  a  great  deal 
o*^  bawling,  it  was  discovered  that  only  ten  special 
jurymen  were  present.  Upon  this,  Mr.  Serjeant 
Buzfuz  prayed  a  tales;  the  gentleman  in  black 
then  proceeded  to  press  into  the  special  jury  two 
of  the  common  jurjonen  ;  and  a  greengrocer  and  a 
chemist  were  caught  directly. 

"  Answer  to  your  names,  gentlemen,  that  you 
may  be  sworn,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black. 
"Richard  Up\vitch." 

"  Here,"  said  the  greengrocer. 

"Thomas  Groffin." 

"  Here,"  said  the  chemist. 

"Take  the  book,  gentlemen.  You  shall  well 
and  truly  try — " 

"I  beg  this  court's  pardon,"  said  the  chemist. 


who  was  a  tall,  thin,  yellow-visaged  man,  "but  I 
hope  this  court  will  excuse  my  attendance." 

"On  what  grounds,  sir]"  said  Mr.  Justice 
Stareleigh. 

"I  have  no  assistant,  my  Lord,"  said  the 
chemist. 

"  I  can't  help  that,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Justice 
Stareleigh.     "  You  should  hire  one." 

"  I  can't  aflford  it,  my  Lord,"  rejoined  the 
chemist. 

"Then  you  ought  to  be  able  to  afi"ord  it,  sir," 
said  the  judge,  reddening  ;  for  Mr.  Justice  Stare- 
leigh's  temper  bordered  on  the  irritable,  'and 
brooked  not  contradiction. 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  do,  if  I  got  on  as  well  as 
I  deserved,  but  I  don't,  my  Lord,"  answered  the 
chemist. 

"  Swear  the  gentleman,"  said  the  judge  peremp- 
torily. 

The  officer  had  got  no  further  than  the  "You 
shall  well  and  truly  try,"  when  he  was  again 
interrupted  by  the  chemist. 

"  I  am  to  be  sworn,  my  Lord,  am  II"  said  the 
chemist. 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  testy  little  judge. 

"Very  well,  my  Lord,"  replied  the  chemist,  in 
a  resigned  manner.  "  Then  there'll  be  murder 
before  this  trial's  over  ;  that's  all.  Swear  me,  if 
you  please,  sir ; "  and  sworn  the  chemist  was, 
before  the  judge  could  find  words  to  utter. 

"  I  merely  wanted  to  observe,  my  Lord,"  said 
the  chemist,  taking  his  seat  with  great  dolibera- 
tion,  "  that  I've  left  nobody  but  an  errand  boy  in 
my  shop.  He  is  a  very  nice  boy,  my  Lord,  but  he 
is  not  acquainted  with  drugs  ;  and  I  know  that 
the  prevailing  impression  on  his  mind  is,  that 


BARDELL   AGAINST   PICKWICK. 


3G7 


Epsom  salts  means  oxalic  acid ;  and  syrup  of 
senna,  laudanum.  That's  all,  my  Lord."  With 
this,  the  tail  chemist  composed  himself  into  a 
comfortable  attitude,  and,  assuming  a  pleasant 
expression  of  countenance,  appeared  to  have  pre- 
pared himself  for  the  worst. 

Mr.  Pickwick  was  regarding  the  chemist  with 
feelings  of  the  deepest  horror,  when  a  slight 
sensation  was  perceptible  in  the  body  of  the 
court ;  and  immediately  afterwards  Mrs.  Bardell, 
supported  by  Mrs.  Cluppins,  was  led  in,  and  placed, 
in  a  drooping  state,  at  the  other  end  of  the  seat  on 
which  Mr.  Pickwick  sat.  An  extra-sized  umbrella 
was  then  handed  in  by  Mr.  Dodson,  and  a  pair  of 
pattens  by  Mr.  Fogg,  each  of  whom  had  prepared 
a  most  sympathising  and  melancholy  face  for  the 
occasion.  Mrs.  Sanders  then  appeared,  leading 
in  Master  Bardell.  At  sight  of  her  child,  Mrs. 
Bardell  started  ;  suddenly  recollecting  herself,  she 
kissed  him  in  a  frantic  manner ;  then  relapsing 
into  a  state  of  hysterical  imbecility,  the  good  lady 
requested  to  be  informed  where  she  was.  In 
reply  to  this,  Mrs.  Cluppins  and  Mrs.  Sandern 
turned  their  heads  away  and.  wept,  while  Messrs. 
Dodson  and  Fogg  entreated  the  plaintiff  to 
compose  herself.  Serjeant  Buzfuz  rubbed  his 
eyes  very  hard  with  a  large  white  handkerchief, 
and  gave  an  appealing  look  towards  the  jury, 
while  the  judge  was  visibly  affected,  and  several  of 
the  beholders  tried  to  cough  down  their  emotions. 

"Very  good  notion  that,  indeed,"  whispered 
Perker  to  Mr,  Pickwick.  "Capital  fellows  those 
Dodson  and  Fogg;  excellent  ideas  of  effect,  my 
dear  sir,  excellent." 

"  Bardell  and  Pickwick,"  cried  the  gentleman  in 
black,  calling  on  the  case,  which  stood  first  on  the 
list. 

"  I  am  for  the  plaintiff,  my  Lord,"  said  Mr. 
Serjeant  Buzfuz. 

"  Who  is  with  you,  brother  Buzfuz  1 "  said  the 
judge.  Mr.  Skimpin  bowed  to  intimate  that  he 
was. 

"I  appear  for  the  defendant,  my  Lord,"  said 
Mr.  Serjeant  Snubbin. 

"  Anybody  with  you,  brother  Snubbin  1 "  in- 
quired the  court. 

"]\Ir.  Phunky,  my  Lord,"  replied  Serjeant 
Snubbin. 

"  Serjeant  Buzfuz  and  Mr.  Skimpin  for  the 
plaintiff,"  said  the  judge,  writing  down  the  names 
in  his  note-book,  and  reading  as  he  wrote;  "for 
the  defendant,  Serjeant  Snubbin  and  Mr.  Monkey." 

"Beg  your  Lordship's  pardon,  Phunky." 

"  O,  very  good,"  said  the  judge  ;  "  I  never  had 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  gentleman's  name 
before."  Here  Mr.  Phunky  bowed  and  smiled, 
and  the  judge  bowed  and  smiled  too,  and  then 
Mr.  Phunky,  blushing  into  the  very  whites  of  his 
eyes,  tried  to  look  as  if  he  didn't  know  that  every- 


body was  gazing  at  him  :  a  thing  which  no  man 
ever  succeeded  in  doing  yet,  or  in  all  reasonable 
probability,  ever  will. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  judge. 

The  ushers  again  called  silence,  and  Mr. 
Skimpin  proceeded  to  "  open  the  case ; "  and  the 
case  appeared  to  have  very  little  inside  it  when  he 
had  opened  it,  for  he  kept  such  particulars  as  he 
knew  completely  to  himself,  and  sat  down,  after 
a  lapse  of  three  minutes,  leaving  the  jury  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  advanced  stage  of  wisdom  as  they 
were  in  before. 

Serjeant  Buzfuz  then  rose  with  all  the  majesty 
and  dignity  which  the  grave  nature  of  the  pro- 
ceedings demanded,  and  having  whispered  to 
Dodson,  and  conferred  briefly  with  Fogg,  pulled 
his  gown  over  his  shoulders,  settled  his  wig,  and 
addressed  the  jury. 

Serjeant  Buzfuz  began  by  saying,  that  never,  in 
the  whole  course  of  his  professional  experience — • 
never,  from  the  very  first  moment  of  his  apjilying 
himself  to  the  study  and  practice  of  the  law — had 
he  approached  a  case  with  feelings  of  such  deep 
emotion,  or  with  such  a  heavy  sense  of  the  respon- 
sibility imposed  upon  him — a  responsibility,  he 
would  say,  which  he  could  never  have  supported, 
were  he  not  buoyed  up  and  sustained  by  a  con- 
viction so  strong,  that  it  amounted  to  positive 
certainty  that  the  cause  of  truth  and  justice,  or, 
in  other  words,  the  cause  of  his  much-injured  and 
most  oppressed  client,  must  prevail  with  the  high- 
minded  and  intelligent  dozen  of  men  whom  he 
now  saw  in  that  box  before  him. 

Counsel  always  begin  in  this  way,  because  it 
puts  the  jury  on  the  very  best  terms  with  them- 
selves, and  makes  them  think  what  sharp  fellows 
they  must  be.  A  visible  effect  was  produced 
immediately  ;  several  jurymen  beginning  to  take 
voluminous  notes  with  the  utmost  eagerness. 

"  i^ou  have  heard  from  my  learned  friend, 
gentlemen,"  continued  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  well 
knowing  that,  from  the  learned  friend  alluded  to, 
the  gentleman  of  the  jury  had  heard  just  nothing 
at  all — "  you  have  heard  from  my  learned  friend, 
gentlemen,  that  this  is  an  action  for  a  breach  of 
promise  of  marriage,  in  which  the  damages  are 
laid  at  £1,500.  But  you  have  not  heard  from 
my  learned  friend,  inasmuch  as  it  did  not  come 
within  my  learned  friend's  province  to  tell  you, 
what  are  the  facts  and  circumstances  of  the  case. 
Those  facts  and  circumstances,  gentlemen,  you 
shall  hear  detailed  by  me,  and  proved  by  the  un- 
impeachable female  whom  I  will  place  in  that  box 
before  you." 

Here  Mr.  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  with  a  tremendous 
emphasis  on  the  word  "  box,"  smote  his  table  with 
a  mighty  sound,  and  glanced  at  Dodson  and  Fogg, 
who  nodded  admiration  of  the  serjeant,  and 
indignant  defiance  of  the  defendant. 


368 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


"  The  plaintift*,  gentlemen,"  continued  Serjeant 
Buzfuz,  in  a  soft  and  melancholy  voice,  "the 
plaintiff  is  a  widow;  yes,  gentlemen,  a  widow. 
The  late  Mr.  Bardell,  after  enjoying,  for  many 
years,  the  esteem  and  confidence  of  his  sovereign, 
as  one  of  the  guardians  of  the  royal  revenues, 
glided  almost  imperceptibly  from  the  world,  to 
seek  elsewhere  for  that  reix)se  and  peace  which 
a  custom-house  can  never  afford." 

At  this  pathetic  description  of  the  decease  of 
Mr.  Bardell,  who  had  been  knocked  on  the  head 
with  a  quart  pot  in  a  public-house  cellar,  the 
learned  Serjeant's  voice  faltered,  and  he  proceeded 
with  emotion, 

"  Some  time  before  his  death,  he  hud  stamped 
his  likeness  upon  a  little  boy.  With  this  little 
boy,  the  only  pledge  of  her  de]>arted  exciseman, 
Mrs.  Bardell  shrunk  from  the  world,  and  courted 
the  retirement  and  tranquillity  of  Groswell  Street ; 
and  here  she  placed  in  her  front  parlour-window  a 
written  placard,  bearing  this  inscription — '  Apart- 
ments furnished  for  a  single  gentleman.  Inquire 
within.'"  Here  Serjeant  Buzfuz  paused,  while 
several  gentlemen  of  the  jury  took  a  note  of  the 
document. 

"  There  is  no  date  to  that,  is  there,  sir  1 " 
inquired  a  juror. 

"  There  is  no  date,  gentlemen,"  replied  Serjeant 
Buzfuz ;  "  but  I  am  instructed  to  say  that  it  was 
put  in  the  plaintiffs  parlour-window  just  this 
time  three  years.  I  entreat  the  attention  of  the 
jury  to  the  wording  of  this  document— '  Apart- 
ments furnished  for  a  single  gentleman  ! '  Mrs. 
Bardell's  opinions  of  the  opposite  sex,  gentlemen, 
were  derived  from  a  long  contemplation  of  the 
inestimable  qualities  of  her  lost  husband.  She 
had  no  fear — she  had  no  distrust — she  had  no 
suspicion — all  was  confidence  and  reliance.  '  Mr. 
Bardell,'  said  the  widow ;  '  Mr.  Bardell  was  a 
man  of  honour — Mr.  Bardell  was  a  man  of  his 
word — Mr.  Bardell  was  no  deceiver — Mr.  Bardell 
was  once  a  single  gentleman  himself ;  to  single 
gentlemen  I  look  for  protection,  for  assistance, 
for  comfort,  and  for  consolation — in  .single  gentle- 
men I  shall  perpetually  see  something  to  remind 
me  of  what  Mr.  Bardell  was,  when  he  first  won 
my  young  and  untried  affections ;  to  a  single 
gentleman,  then,  shall  my  lodgings  be  let.' 
Actuated  by  this  beautiful  and  touching  impulse 
(among  the  best  impulses  of  our  imperfect  nature, 
gentlemen)— the  lonely  and  desolate  widow  dried 
her  tears,  furnished  her  first  floor,  caught  her 
innocent  boy  to  her  maternal  bosom,  and  put  the 
bill  up  in  her  parlour-window.  Did  it  remain 
there  long  %  No.  The  serpent  was  on  the  watch, 
the  train  was  laid,  the  mine  was  preparing,  the 
sapper  and  miner  was  at  work.  Before  the  bill 
had  been  in  the  parlour- window  three  days— three 
days,  gentlemen— a  Being,  erect  upon  two  legs. 


and  bearing  all  the  outward  semblance  of  a  man, 
and  not  of  a  monster,  knocked  at  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Bardell's  house.  He  inquired  within ;  he 
took  the  lodgings ;  and  on  the  very  next  day  he 
entered  into  possession  of  them.  This  man  was 
Pickwick — Pickwick  the  defendant." 

Serjeant  Buzfuz,  who  had  proceeded  with  such 
volubility  that  his  face  was  perfectly  crimson,  here 
paused  for  breath.  The  silence  awoke  Mr.  Justice 
Stareleigh,  who  immediately  wrote  down  some- 
thing with  a  pen  without  any  ink  in  it,  and 
looked  unusually  profound,  to  impress  the  jury 
with  the  belief  that  he  always  thought  most 
deeply  with  his  eyes  shut.  Serjeant  Buzfuz  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  Of  this  man  Pickwick  I  will  say  little  ;  the 
subject  presents  but  Jew  attractions ;  and  I, 
gentlemen,  am  not  the  man,  nor  are  you,  gentle- 
men, the  men,  to  delight  in  the  contemplation  of 
revolting  heartlessness,  and  of  systematic  villany." 

Here  Mr.  Pickwick,  vv^ho  had  been  writhing 
in  silence  for  some  time,  gave  a  violent  start, 
as  if  some  vague  idea  of  assaulting  Serjeant 
Buzfuz,  in  the  august  presence  of  justice  and 
law,  suggested  itself  to  his  mind.  An  admonitory 
gesture  from  Perker  restrained  him,  and  he 
listened  to  the  learned  gentleman's  continuation 
with  a  look  of  indignation,  which  contrasted 
forcibly  Avith  the  admiring  faces  of  Mrs.  Cluppins 
and  Mrs.  Sanders. 

"I  .say  systematic  villany,  gentlemen,"  said 
Serjeant  Buzfuz,  looking  through  j\Ir.  Pickwick, 
and  talking  at  him  ;  "  and  when  I  say  systematic 
villany,  let  me  tell  the  defendant  Pickwick  if 
he  be  in  court,  as  I  am  informed  he  is,  that  it 
would  have  been  more  decent  in  him,  more 
becoming,  in  better  judgment,  and  in  better 
taste,  if  he  had  stopped  away.  Let  me  tell  him, 
gentlemen,  that  any  gestures  of  dissent  or  dis- 
approbation in  which  he  may  indulge  in  this 
court  will  not  go  down  with  you ;  that  you  will 
know  how  to  value  and  how  to  appreciate  them  ; 
and  let  me  tell  him  further,  as  my  Lord  will  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  that  a  counsel,  in  the  discharge  of 
his  duty  to  his  client,  is  neither  to  be  intimidated, 
nor  bullied,  nor  put  down  ;  and  that  any  attempt 
to  do  either  the  one  or  the  other,  or-  the  first,  or 
the  last,  will  recoil  on  the  head  of  the  attempter, 
be  he  plaintiff  or  be  he  defendant,  be  his  name 
Pickwick,  or  Noakes,  or  Stoakes,  or  Stiles,  or 
Brown,  or  Thompson." 

This  little  divergence  from  the  subject  in  hand^ 
had  of  course  the  intended  effect  of  tiu-ning  all 
eyes  to  Mr.  Pickwick.  Serjeant  Buzfuz,  having 
partially  recovered  from  the  state  of  moral  eleva- 
tion into  which  he  had  lashed  himself,  resumed : 

"I  shall  show  you,  gentlemen,  that  for  two 
years  Pickwick  continued  to  reside  constantly, 
and  without  interruption  or  intermission,  at  Mrs. 


2u 


370 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR   AUTHORS. 


BardelFs  house.  I  shall  show  you  that  ]\Irs. 
Bardell,  during  the  whole  of  that  time,  waited  on 
him,  attended  to  his  comforts,  cooked  his  meals, 
looked  out  his  linen  for  the  washerwoman  when 
it  went  abroad,  darned,  aired,  and  prepared  it  for 
wear,  when  it  came  home,  and,  in  short,  enjoyed 
his  fullest  trust  and  confidence.  I  shall  show  you 
that,  on  many  occasions,  he  gave  halfi)ence,  and 
on  some  occasions  even  sixpences,  to  her  little 
boy ;  and  I  shall  prove  to  you,  by  a  witness 
whose  testimony  it  will  be  impossible  for  my 
learned  friend  to  weaken  or  controvert,  that  on 
one  occasion  he  i)atted  the  boy  on  the  head,  and, 
after  inquiring  whether  he  had  won  any  alleij  tors 
or  commoneijs  lately  (both  of  which  I  understand 
to  be  a  particular  species  of  marbles  much  prized 
by  the  youth  of  this  town),  made  use  of  this 
rjmarkable  expression^ — "  How  shouUl  you  like  to 
liave  another  father]"  I  shall  prove  to  you, 
gentlemen,  that  about  a  year  ago,  Pickwick 
suddenly  began  to  absent  himself  from  home, 
during  long  intervals,  as  if  with  the  intention 
of  gradually  breaking  off  from  my  client  ;  but  I 
shall  show  you  also,  that  his  resolution  was  not 
at  that  time  sufficiently  strong,  or  that  his  better 
fe-elings  concjuered,  if  better  feelings  he  has,  oi; 
that  the  charms  and  accomplishments  of  my  client 
prevailed  against  his  uinnanly  intentions ;  by 
proving  to  you,  that  on  one  occasion,  when  he 
returned  from  the  country,  he  distinctly  and  in 
terms,  offered  her  marriage  ;  previously,  however, 
taking  special  care  that  there  should  be  no 
witnesses  to  their  solemn  contract ;  and  I  am  in  a 
situation  to  prove  to  you,  on  the  testimony  of 
three  of  his  own  friends — most  unwilling  witnesses, 
gentlemen — most  unwilling  witnesses — that  on 
that  morning  he  was  discovered  by  them  holding 
the  plaintiff  in  his  arms,  and  soothing  her  agitation 
by  his  caresses  and  endearments." 

A  visible  impression  was  produced  upon  the 
auditors  by  this  part  of  the  learned  Serjeant's 
address.  Drawing  forth  two  very  small  scraps  of 
paper,  he  proceeded  : 

"And  now,  gentlemen,  but  one  word  more. 
Two  letters  have  passed  between  these  parties, 
letters  which  are  admitted  to  be  in  the  hand- 
writing of  the  defendant,  and  which  speak 
volumes  indeed.  These  letters,  too,  bespeak  the 
character  of  the  man.  They  are  not  open,  fervent, 
eloquent  epistles,  breathing  nothing  but  the 
language  of  affectionate  attachment.  They  are 
covert,  sly,  underhanded  communications,  but, 
fortunately,  far  more  conclusive  than  if  couched 
in  the  most  glowing  language  and  the  most  poetic 
imagery— letters  that  must  be  viewed  with  a 
cautious  and  suspicious  eye — letters  that  were 
evidently  intended  at  the  time,  by  Pickwick,  to 
mislead  and  delude  any  third  parties  into  whose 
hands  they  might  fall.     Let  me  read  the  first : — 


'Garraway's,  twelve  o'clock.  Dear  Mrs.  B. — Chops 
and  Tomata  sauce.  Yours,  Pickwick.'  Gentle- 
men, what  does  this  mean  1  '  Chops  and  Tomata 
sauce.  Yours,  Pickwick  ! '  Chops !  Gracious 
heavens  !  and  Tomata  sauce  !  Gentlemen,  is  the 
happiness  of  a  sensitive  and  confiding  female  to 
be  trifled  iH\'ay  by  such  shallow  artifices  as  these  1 
The  next  has  no  date  whatever,  which  is  in  itself 
suspicious — '  Dear  Mrs.  B.,  I  shall  not  be  at  home 
till  to-morrow.  Slow  coach.'  And  then  follows 
this  very,  very  remarkable  expression — '  Don't 
trouble  yourself  about  the  warming-pan.'  The 
warming-pan  I  Why,  gentlemen,  who  does  trouble 
himself  about  a  warming-pan  1  When  was  the 
peace  of  mind  of  man  or  woman  broken  or  dis- 
turbed by  a  warming-pan,  which  is  in  itself  a 
harmless,  a  useful,  and  I  will  add,  gentlemen,  a 
comforting  article  of  domestic  furniture  ?  Why  is 
Mrs.  Bardell  so  earnestly  entreated  not  to  agitate 
herself  about  this  warming-pan,  unless  (as  is  no 
doubt  the  case)  it  is  a  mere  cover  for  hidden  fire — 
a  mere  substitute  for  some  endearing  word  or 
promise,  agreeably  to  a  preconcerted  system  of 
correspondence,  artfully  contrived  by  Pickwick 
with  a  view  to  his  contemj)lated  desertion,  and 
which  I  am  not  in  a  condition  to  explain  %  And 
what  does  this  allusion  to  the  slow  coach  mean  ] 
For  aught  I  know,  it  may  be  a  reference  to 
Pickwick  himself,  who  has  most  unquestionably 
been  a  criminally  slow  coach  during  the  whole 
of  this  transaction,  but  whose  speed  will  now  be 
very  unexpectedly  accelerated,  and  whose  wheels, 
gentlemen,  as  he  will  find  to  his  cost,  will  very 
soon  be  greased  by  you  !  " 

Mr.  Serjeant  Buzfuz  paused  in  this  place,  to 
see  whether  the  jury  smiled  at  his  joke;  but 
as  nobody  took  it  but  the  greengrocer,  whose 
sensitiveness  on  the  subject  was  very  probably 
occasioned  by  his  having  subjected  a  chaise-cart 
to  the  process  in  question  on  that  identical 
morning,  the  learned  serjeant  considered  it  ad- 
visable to  undergo  a  slight  relapse  into  the 
dismals  before  he  concluded. 

"  But  enough  of  this,  gentlemen,"  said  ^Mr, 
Serjeant  Buzfuz,  "  it  is  difficult  to  smile  with  an 
aching  heart ;  it  is  ill  jesting  when  our  deepest 
sympathies  are  awakened.  My  client's  hopes  and 
prospects  are  ruined,  and  it  is  no  figure  of  speech 
to  say  that  her  occupation  is  gone  indeed.  The 
bill  is  down — but  there  is  no  tenant.  Eligible 
single  gentlemen  pass  and  repass — but  there  is  no 
invitation  for  them  to  inquire  within  or  without. 
All  is  gloom  and  silence  in  the  house ;  even  the 
voice  of  the  child  is  hushed  ;  his  infant  sports 
are  disregarded  when  his  mother  weeps  ;  his 
'  alley  tors '  and  his  '  commoneys '  are  alike 
neglected;  he  forgets  the  long  familiar  cry  of 
'  knuckle  down ; '  and  at  tip-cheese,  or  odd  and 
even,  his  hand  is  out.     But  Pickwick,  gentlemen. 


AT   THE   ALMA. 


371 


Pickwick,  the  ruthless  destroyer  of  this  domestic 
oasis  in  the  desert  of  Goswell  Street — Pickwick, 
who  has  choked  up  the  well,  and  thrown  ashes  on 
the  sward  —  Pickwick,  who  comes  before  you 
to-day  with  his  heartless  tomata  sauce  and 
warming-pans — Pickwick  still  rears  his  head  with 
unblushing  effrontery,  and  gazes  without  a  sigh 
on  the  ruin  he  has  made.  Damages,  gentlemen— 
heavy  damages,  is    the    only   punishment    with 


which  you  can  visit  him  ;  the  only  recompense 
you  can  award  to  my  client.  And  for  those 
damages  she  now  appeals  to  an  enlightened,  a 
high-minded,  a  right-feeling,  a  conscientious,  a 
dispassionate,  a  sympathising,  a  contemplative 
jury  of  her  civilised  countrymen." 

With  this  beautiful  peroration,  Mr.  Serjeant 
Buzfuz  sat  down,  and  Mr.  Justice  Stareleigh 
woke  up. 


ft»«>fe 


AT    THE    ALMA. 

[From  "  The  Adventures  of  Dr.  Brady."     By  "William  Howard  Eussell.] 


HERE  must  be  a  great  change  wrought 
in  man's  nature  betV)re  he  ceases  to  revel 
r^^Eg  in  war — not  always  in  the  heat  of  battle, 
'i^'^  which  may  find  dross  where  the  metal 
seemed  purest  —  but  in  the  enterprise  and 
adventure  of  campaigning.  It  is  a  new 
sensation  to  find  you  are  in  danger  from  men  you 
have  never  seen — who  owe  you  no  ill-will,  whom 
you  are  bound  to  kill  if  you  can — and  to  know 
that  you  will  be  honoured  by  all  your  fellows  for 
doing  the  work.  Most  men  must  have  the  backs 
of  their  heads  removed  and  some  other  matter  put 
in  place  of  the  present  grouting  ere  they  cease  to 
delight  in  such  homicide  ;  and  we  may  despair,  I 
fear,  of  ever  welcoming  the  advent  of  the  day 
when  a  nation  shall  be  brought  to  the  bar  of 
public  oi^inion  and  condemned  for  murder  because 
it  has  waged  war — above  all,  successful  war. 

I  stood  on  a  sand-hill,  and  saw  the  army  move 
from  the  beach  towards  the  enemy.  It  was  a 
sight  which  fil'ed  one's  throat  and  made  the  heart 
swell — mine,  although  I  had  been  working  among 
the  sick,  and  had  sent  off  my  last  boatful  of  hope- 
less sufferers  to  the  ships.  The  freshness  of  the 
morning  air,  the  life  and  animation  of  the  march, 
the  swarming  transports,  and  their  fluttering 
signals  and  flapping  canvas ;  the  stately  pro- 
cession of  the  line-of-battle  ships  and  frigates,  as 
they  moved  on  with  their  advance-guard  of  swift 
steamers  ;  the  perfect  order  in  which  each  scarlet 
oblong  took  up  its  place,  as  brigade  after  brigade 
-formed,  and  the  divisions  extended  and  spread 
out  over  the  rolling  downs,  fragrant  with  flowers 
and  deep  with  pasture  ;  the  galloping  aides,  riding 
from  one  bright  patch  of  horsemen  to  the  other— 
the  dark  masses  of  the  artillery,  the  black  fringe 
of  the  Rifles  rolling  before  the  wave  as  it  swept 
over  the  plain  ;  on  our  left  the  cavalry  moving  in 
the  light  of  their  own  helmets,  sabres,  and  lance- 
points,  the  dun-coloured  crowd  of  camp-followers, 
and  the  scanty  arabas — all  formed  a  picture — ah, 
no  ! — formed  a  real  body  and  soul  of  war,  which 
was  beautiful  and  terrible  enough  to  justify  the 


love  and  pride  of  kings  !  Did  I  think  of  my 
vocation  then  1  Not  one  bit  !  I  longed  to  ride 
with  that  whirling  cavalry,  or  to  march  at  the 
head  of  an  obedient  column.  Why  am  I  obliged 
to  attend  to  the  miserable  driver  whose  leg  has 
just  been  crushed  by  the  wheel  of  a  gun,  and  who 
will  never  mount  horse  again  or  join  his  comrades 
of- the  R.H.A.  1  It  is  a  descent  from  Pegasus,  and 
it  does  me  good  to  touch  the  hard  ground  of 
matter-of-fact  duty  again.  And  when  at  last  my 
turn  came  to  move  off"  \vith  my  dear  old  Tigei's, 
all  my  enthusiasm  was  nigh  smothered  in  the  heat 
of  the  sweltering  ranks  ;  for  after  many  days 
of  sea-carriage,  the  noblest  heroes,  packed  close  in 
ships,  and  destitute  of  water,  will  in  tight  cloth 
clothes  swelter,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  under  a 
Crimean  Sei^tember  sun.  I  had  acquired  thiA 
right  to  purchase  a  horse.  The  cavalry  swept  in 
some  wretched  creatures  one  morning,  and  a 
Tartar  whose  mind  was  much  perturbed  by  fear 
respecting  the  genuineness  of  British  sovereigns — 
he  tested  them,  in  British  fashion,  with  his  teeth 
— sold  me  a  soliped  which  certainly  had  died  of 
age  and  muscular  imbecility  but  for  hard  spurring 
and  the  excitement  around  him.  The  Brighton 
downs  (not  quite  so  sharply  accentuated)  with  a 
bluer  sea  and  flowers  springing  in  the  grass  in 
greater  profusion  than  at  home — this  is  what  we 
are  marching  over  in  that  ordered  array  from 
which  the  blaze  of  the  sun  is  flashed  back  at  every 
step  in  rays  innumerable.  But  before  us,  and 
away  towards  the  broad  bands  of  rising  ground 
purpled  in  the  distance,  and  gradually  heaping 
tier  over  tier  till  they  are  lost  in  the  blue  peak  of 
the  Tchatir  Dagh,  there  ascend,  reddening  at  the 
base,  pillars  of  smoke  in  the  still  air— now  black- 
now  whitening  as  they  die  out.  The  Cossack  has 
been  busy  with  the  torch,  and  he  is  preparing  our 
welcome  of  fire  and  ashes ! 

Hour  after  hour  we  move  on.  It  is  a  slow 
march,  for  the  men  mu.st  halt  now  and  then  to 
rest ;  and  it  is  needful  to  keep  the  order  of  our 
advance.    During  one  of  these  breaks,  when  aa 


372 


GLEANINGS   FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


army  is  resolved  into  myriads  of  units,  when  arms 
are  piled,  packs  shifted,  pipes  lighted,  and  a  hum 
which  is  the  laughter  and  shouting  of  thousands 
all  together  swells  over  the  plain,  I  rode  on  with 
Major  Hood  towards  our  cavah-y,  which  was 
covering  our  front  very  prettily  with  its  Light 
Brigade.  We  came  to  a  narrow,  sluggish,  ditch- 
like stream  groping  through  a  fat  meadow  on  its 
way  to  the  sea.  By  the  side  of  the  road  close 
to  the  bridge  were  the  remains  of  a  whitewashed 
farmhouse  blackened  by  the  smoke  of  the  hayricks 
and  outhouses,  and  charred  by  the  heat  so  that 
the  planks  of  the  roof  had  crumpled  up  and 
broken  away  from  the  eaves.  The  major  was  a 
man  of  forethought.  "  The  cavalry  can't  have  had 
time  to  rummage  this  place.  Let  us  go  in  and  see 
if  the  Cossacks  have  left  anything." 

We  dismounted,  hitched  up  our  horses  at  the 
door  of  the  Post  Station  of  Buljanak,  and  entered 
the  house.  Room  after  room — it  was  all  the  same 
— furniture  broken — drawers  open  and  empty — 
scattered  articles  of  clothing— every  mark  of  hasty 
flight.  As  we  opened  one  door,  a  cat  charged 
furiously  between  our  legs  and  was  followed  by  a 
kid,  but  in  an  instant  a  shot  from  Hood's  revolver 
rolled  the  latter  over.  "  There's  our  dinner  for  a 
couple  of  days,  my  lad !  I'm  not  sure  we  ought 
to  have  let  pussy  go,  for  cat's  meat  may  be  a 
delicacy  if  the  Cossacks  have  their  way.  Now  I'll 
just  make  our  kid  portable,  and  do  you  go  on  and 
try  your  luck.  Don't  spare  anything  eatable."  I 
descended  into  the  com-t  just  as  Standish  bounded 
round  the  comer  in  pursuit  of  a  wounded  guinea- 
fowl,  with  a  smoking  pistol  in  his  hand,  and  ran  it 
to  death  in  the  embers  of  a  hay-rick. 

"  There,"  he  exclaimed,  "  a  few  turns  more  and 
it  would  be  roasted,  feathers  and  all.  Cam- 
paigning makes  a  fellow  very  hungry  and 
dreadfully  unprincipled.  What  a  joke  we  think 
all  this  is  I — but  how  savage  we'd  be  if  the 
French  were  potting  our  domestic  animals  about 
Clapham  Common ! " 

And  we  three  marauders  pricked  along  the 
plain  with  our  plunder  in  our  wallets  till  we  got 
nigh  the  line  of  the  cavalry  skirmishers  which  had 
just  halted  in  a  hollow.  On  the  ridge  in  front  of 
them  there  was  a  dotted  line  of  horsemen,  which 
advanced  towards  us.  As  they  came  nearer,  the 
long  flagless  lances  and  the  round  bullet-like 
heads  of  the  Cossack  horse  were  made  manifest. 

"The  canaille  have  got  something  behind  them," 
said  Hood,  "  as  we  shall  see  presently." 

The  Cossacks  came  on  bravely  waving  their 
lances,  and  their  lively  little  horses  curvetted 
prettily  down  the  slope.  Then  came  a  tiny  pufF 
of  smoke  from  one,  and  then  another  popped  off 
his  carbine,  and  the  fire  ran  from  one  to  the  other 
along  their  line,  and  their  horses  pranced  and 
Icicked   about    more   friskily    than    ever.       Our 


skirmishers  answered,  and  in  their  ranks  too  was 
equal  commotion,  and  much  gambadoing,  buck- 
jumping,  and  rearing ;  but  no  one  was  hurt,  and 
the  result  of  the  spattering  of  small-arms  was, 
now  and  then  a  little  dust  knocked  up  from  the 
dry  ground,  or  a  singing  in  the  air  as  a  bullet 
wandered  on  its  errand. 

"  It's  a  capital  illustration  of  the  value  of 
cavalry  fire,"  said  Hood.  "But  look,  there  they 
are  in  earnest ! " 

He  pointed  to  the  hill  in  front,  and  there 
indeed  rose  in  sight  a  forest  of  lances.  Next 
there  appeared  a  dense  mass  of  horse,  which  halted 
on  the  sky-line  in  three  divisions ;  the  centre  dark 
blue,  the  right  white,  anrl  the  left  a  light  grey. 

"  Ho !  ho !  my  lads,  I  thought  so,"  continued 
the  major.  "  There  is  my  Lord  Cardigan  and  his 
Brigade,  but  where  are  his  guns  1  These  fellows 
will  soon  let  us  have  a  taste  of  their  iron." 

Our  skirmishers  were  falling  back.  The  Cossack 
line  followed  them  with  derisive  cheers.  Suddenly 
the  centre  square  of  dark  blue  on  the  ridge  shook 
itself  out,  and  opening  right  and  left  uncovered 
eight  black  specks  on  the  hill.  Out  flew  from  one 
of  them  a  fat  pufF  of  white  smoke,  and  ere  one 
could  count  twice  a  sharp  swishing  sound  heralded 
but  an  instant  in  advance  the  visit  of  the  round 
shot,  which  pitched  right  under  my  pony  and 
covered  the  major  and  Standish  with  a  violent 
shower  of  earth,  small  stones,  and  dust. 

"We  are  right  in  the  line  of  their  fire  on  the 
cavalry  !  They  take  us  for  the  staff",  perhaps, 
owing  to  this  gentleman's  splendid  gold  band. 
Come  over  to  the  left  flank,"  advised  our  Mentor, 
who  never  stopped  puffing  his  cigar  for  a 
moment.  And  as  he  spoke  a  shell  burst  over  us, 
and  I  heard  the  singing  of  the  fragments  ;  and 
swish  came  another  shot  !  and  whizz  !  whizz  ! 
whizz  !  shot  after  shot  all  around  us  !  But  Hood 
was  imperative  against  any  rapid  movement.  , 
"No  cantering!  No  galloping  !  A  quiet  trot  to 
the  flank,  if  you  please,  gentlemen." 

It  was  now  a  very  pretty  sight  indeed.  The 
cavalry  was  slowly  falling  back,  wheeling  in  alter- 
nate squadrons,  with  face  to  the  enemy  as  they 
retired,  whilst  the  Russians  pressed  forward  with 
their  guns  as  if  to  come  down  on  us  ere  the 
Brigade  could  reach  the  cover  of  its  artillery  and 
the  advancing  army.  In  the  distance  behind  us 
appeared  the  British,  moving  on  like  Atlantic 
rollers,  and  tracing  the  green  plains  with  bands  of 
scarlet  and  white  ;  and  through  the  dust-clouds 
which  came  up  from  the  tramp  of  horses  and  the 
wheels  of  bounding  gun-carriages  we  could  make 
out  the  artillery  hastening  to  the  rescue.  The 
Russian  guns  ceased  not  to  ply  the  cavalry,  and 
here  and  there  a  horse  fell  or  the  ranks  shook  for 
a  little  as  the  missile  found  a  victim.  But  the 
tables  were  soon  turned  on  the  enemy — a  British 


AT   THE   ALMA. 


373 


T^attery  iiiilimbered  close  to  us,  opened  fire,  and, 
seconded  by  another,  soon  checked  the  Russian 
horse  and  forced  them  to  gather  up  their  guns. 
Presently  they  vanished  over  the  hill  again,  and 
were  seen  no  more. 

"What  was  it  all  about,  sir?"  puffed  a  stout 
Rifle  captain,  very  red  in  the  face  from  running 
along  with  his  company,  into  which  the  last 
Russian  round  shot  rolled  slowly,  to  the  great 
damage  of  a  poor  terrier,  which  ran  at  it,  and  lost 
all  his  teeth  in  consequence.  "Are  we  engaged 
with  the  enemy  1 " 


for  help  and  mercy  ;  all  mingled  together,  with  a 
crackling  and  hissing  of  flames  from  burning 
villages,  and  a  ringing  treble  of  musketry ;  this  was 
the  music  to  which  the  play  was  going,  the  actors 
terribly  in  earnest,  some  only  caring  to  get  away  if 
they  could,  others  only  anxious  to  kill  or  be  killed, 
so  that  the  agony  were  over  soon.  With  faces 
blackened  with  powder  and  eyes  staring  wildly, 
and  teeth  clenched  and  with  tongues  lolling  out, 
the  men  pressed  up  the  slopes,  some  loading  and 
firing  coolly,  others  mechanically,  moving  on  with 
very  little    formation    towards    the   grey-coated 


At  the  Alma.     ( Drawn  bi/  J,  Bell.) 


•  "It  Avas  near  being  a  surprise  of  our  cavalry, 
that's  all,  sir,"  replied  Hood.  "  More  by  chance 
than  good  guidance  it  wasn't.  But  the  lads 
behaved  beautifully." 

The  armies  halted  for  the  night  soon  afterwards, 
•close  to  the  banks  of  the  little  stream. 

And  now  here  was  I,  on  a  sunshiny  warm  after- 
noon on  a  lovely  autumn  day,  toiling  up  a  hill 
which  might  have  been  a  ridge  removed  from  the 
infernal  regions  with  all  its  demon  population  ! 
Tumult,  indescribable  and  infinite  !  the  noise  of 
cannon,  for  which  there  is  no  word,  for  it  is  not  a 
roar,  nor  is  it  thunder ;  the  scream  of  shells,  the 
rush  of  shot,  the  deadly  song  of  the  leaden  birds 
in  continuous  flight  around,  the  storm  of  human 
voices  in  all  the  variety  of  sound  of  which  they  are 
■capable — command,  angry  urgence,  pain,  impreca- 
tion, hate,  furious  outcry,  and  passionate  appeals 


columns  posted  above.  I  could  see  their  brass* 
spiked  helmets  flittering  about  as  the  gunners 
loaded  and  fired,  and  the  figures  of  the  men,  as 
they  sponged  out  and  rammed  home,  stood  out 
distinctly  against  the  snowy  folds  of  smoke  from 
the  guns.  To  see  a  man  fall  gently  forward  on 
his  face  and  hands  as  though  he  had  tripped  on  a 
stone  and  would  get  up  immediately,  and  yet 
to  know  he  would  never  stir  more, — to  see  another 
spring  up  in  the  air,  drop  his  firelock,  clap  his 
hand  to  his  heart,  and  plump  into  the  grass, — to 
see  a  man  pirouette  and  reel  and  drop,  and  try  in 
vain  to  rise, — to  see  a  man  tumble  and  roll  over 
again  and  again  like  a  rabbit  shot  in  full  run, — to 
see  a  man  stagger,  lean  against  his  musket,  slowly 
incline  himself  to  the  ground  and  there  lean  on 
his  arm  whilst  one  hand  pressed  the  wound, — to 
see  a  man  topple  abruptly  and  then  crawl  away, 


374 


GLEANINGS  FROM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


dragging  a  broken  leg  behind  him, — to  see  a  body 
stand  for  a  second  ere  it  fell,  without  a  head,  or 
the  trunk  and  head  lying  legless, — to  see  in  the 
line  of  a  rush  of  grape  a  track  of  dead  and  dying, 
just  as  small  birds  are  cut  down  in  winter-time  by 
boys  in  a  farm-yard — this  was  in  a  few  minutes 
quite  familiar  to  me,  and  was  far  less  terrible  than 
one  glimpse  of  some  terror-stricken  wretch  as,  in 
fear  of  being  trodden  to  death,  he  sought  to  creep 
away  to    a  quiet    place    to  die ;    or    the    mute 
imploring  faces  of  the  wounded  who  all  at  once 
felt  their  part  in  the  day  was  over.     I  was  going  I 
knew  not  where,  for  my  orders  had  been  of  the 
vaguest.     I  was   to  place  myself  wherever  the 
divisional  medical  officer  might  appoint.    But  he 
was  not  visi  ble  anywhere.  And  as  to  "  wherever  my 
services  were  needed,"  why,  there  was  a  fair  field 
anywhere.     But  it  was  quite  evident  I  was  not  on 
the  right  track  at  present,  as  I  was  too  much  in 
the  way  of  glory,  and  had  no  right  to  its  favours. 
Old  Bagshaw  (he   used   to  be  so  civil)  shouted, 
"What  are  you  doing  here,  sir]     Go  back  to  the 
rear  at  once,  sir ! "    as,  vraving   his  sword  and 
mounted  on  a  weak-legged  Turkish  jKtny,  he  led 
the  Bengal  Tigers  over  the  broken-ground.    Major 
Savage,  a  grey-haired,  melancholy  veteran,  who 
was  much  oppressed  by  Mrs.  Savage  and  many 
tyrannical  children,  was  quite  another  being.     He 
curvetted  about  on  a  lumbering  commissariat  cart- 
horse, roaring,  "  Now  then,  that  'ere  number  one 
company,  whatever's  the  reason  you  don't  close 
hup.    Captain  Wilmot?      Forerds,    number    one 
company— forerds  !      Hincline  your  left  a  little 
forrerder,  nimiber  two.     That's  it,  my  lads  ! " — and 
so  passed  on.    I  saw  the  Tigers  halt  in  an  irregular 
line  and  open  fire  fiercely  to  check  a  grey  block  of 
helmeted  infantry  which  came  gravitating  down 
the  slope  of  the  hill.    In  another  second  a  lum- 
bering commissariat-horse  came  plunging  past  me, 
flinging  up  its  great  heels  and  making  for  the  river. 
Bagshaw  was  quite   right — I  could   be  no  use 
where  I  waa     There  was  no  one  to  help  me  to 
dress  a  wound  or  to  carry  away  a  wounded  man, 
and  I  turned  down  towards  the  Alma,  skirting  the 
flaming  village,  and  threading  my  way  amongst 
the  bodies,  or  avoiding  the  advancing  battalions. 
The  din  was  loud  as  ever,  but  a  word  of  command, 
or  a  cry  of  pain  can  be  heard  through  all   the 
uproar  of  battle.     To  the  right  of  the  burning 
hovises  De  Lacy  Evans,  with  a  small  staff,  was 
scanning  the  progress  of  the  action  on  our  left 
through  his  glass.    He  saw  that  the  Light  Division, 
though  they  had  drawn  the  teeth  of  the  Russians, 
were    broken    and    overmatched.      "  Steele,"    he 
exclaimed,  "  ride  over  to  his  Royal  Highness,  and 
say  I  think  the  First  Division  should  advance  at 
once."    Down,  pouring  solidly  towards  the  stream, 
came  the  granite-like  columns  of  the  Muscovite ; 
and  then  through  the  eddying  smoke  the  bear- 


skins of  the  Guards  drew  in  sight,  amid  the 
foliage  of  the  vineyards,  and  the  river  was 
dammed  by  that  living  wall.  They  arrested  and 
gathered  up  the  stubborn  debris  of  the  gallant 
Light  Division.  Soon  the  gentle  slope  was 
seamed  by  black  and  scarlet  bands,  belted  with 
musket  flashes  and  bayonets.  On  the  left  of 
the  Guards  we  could  just  catch  through  the  trees 
the  bonnets  of  the  Highlanders  ;  behind  them, 
motionless,  part  of  the  Light  Division  in  square. 
Further  on  the  left,  out  on  the  plain,  were  all 
our  cavalry.  Behind  us,  in  splendid  order,  was 
advancing  the  Third  Division.  A  group  of  otficers 
has  just  passed  down  to  the  river  close  by ;  a  one- 
armed  man,  in  blue  frock-coat  and  cocked  hat 
with  white  plume — we  all  know  who  he  is — 
cantering  gallantly  and  gaily,  straight  for  the 
banks  crested  with  Russians,  as  if  he  were  at 
a  review,  leading  his  staff  to  do  battle.  On  our 
right,  the  French  are  clustering  on  the  hills  and 
knolls,  and  fight  under  the  thick  vapour  of  their 
ever-rolling  musketry.  The  general  of  the  Second 
Division  has  galloped  with  his  staff  by  the  burning 
village  to  his  men,  who  are  engaged  in  desperate 
conflict  with  the  enemy  on  the  right  of  the 
Guards.    Wherever  I  turn  there  is  work  for  me. 

Strange  enough,  but  true  !  In  the  midst  of  all 
the  clamour  and  smoke,  the  swallows  were  swoop- 
ing about  in  the  most  unconcerned  manner 
possible,  rejoicing  may  be  in  the  great  embarrass- 
ment of  the  flies  !  Once,  indeed,  a  very  large  bird 
of  that  description,  as  I  thought,  took  off  a  piece 
of  my  hat  ;  and  I  learned  that  bits  of  shell  may 
be  mistaken  for  swallows  when  there  is  much 
smoke  about. 

Everywhere  cries  for  help,  or  mute  looks  of 
entreaty — lint !  and  bandage  !  and  tourniquet ! 
And  for  ever  that  roar  incessant,  and  with  all  the 
monotony  of  death  in  its  tone  !  Is  it  never  to  end  ?' 
Presently  there  came  a  break  in  the  storm— a 
few  fitful  outbursts  as  violent  as  the  intensest  roll 
of  musketry— then  a  booming  of  cannon— it  rolls 
further  and  further,  then  dies  out— then  come 
dropping  shots— another  rolling  fire,  and— "What ^ 
is  that  1 "  A  ringing  cheer  !  Oh,  such  a  cheer  1 
It  is  the  wild  hurrah  of  ten  thousand  men  as  they 
stand  victorious  in  the  sloppy  grass,  amid  the 
dying  and  the  dead,  on  the  ridge  of  the  Alma. 
And  far  away  in  the  distance  we  hear  the  fanfare 
of  the  trumpets  and  the  triumphant  rattle  of  the 
drums  of  the  French,  whose  dark  masses  crown 
the  summits  of  the  cliffs  as  the  declining  sun  falls 
on  the  sheen  of  arms,  and  touches  eyelids  which 
will  never  open  to  its  rays  again. 

When  the  soldier's  work  is  done  the  surgeon's 
begins.  Let  me  spare  my  readers  that  night  of 
horrors.  I  feared  every  moment  to  behold  the 
face  of  some  old  friend.  I  dreaded  lest  I  should 
encounter  the  look  of  Gerald  Desmond^  as  the 


THE   BLIND   LINNET. 


375 


■wounded  were  borne  into  the  barn  which  formed 
the  operation  room  and  hospital.  But  he  was  safe. 
"Captain  Desmond,  I  can  assure  you,  is  not 
touched,"  said  poor  old  Bagshaw ;  "  I  saw  him  at 
the  General's  quarters  as  they  were  moving  me 
down  here  after  all  was  over.  It  was  a  confounded 
shame  to  leave  us  without  supports — a  regular 
massacre,  sir.  I  will  talk  sir — if  it's  my  last 
word,  I  will  say  it  was  shockingly  mulled.  My 
<lear  old  Tigers  I — we've  had  a  dreadful  mauling, 
but  if  you  doctors  can  save  my  leg  I'll  live  to 
command  them  again,  please  God.    I  defy  that 


rascal  who  has  been  persecuting  me  all  my  life  to 
stop  my  promotion  this  time  !  I've  done  him 
now  ! " 

And  we  did  save  old  Bagshaw's  leg,  and  he 
lived  to  command  the  Tigers  at  Inkerman  and  in 
the  trenches,  till  he  received  a  wound  beyond  our 
skill  to  cure,  for  his  leg  was  carried  off  with  the 
sharpest  precision,  and  he  may  now  .be  seen 
stumping  down  Pall  Mall  of  a  warm  afternoon  to 
his  club,  to  expatiate  on  the  "confounded  shames" 
to  which  he  is  still  exposed  by  his  unknown  perse- 
cutor, in  the  matter  of  regimental  colonelcies. 


HE  sempstress's  linnet  sings 

At  the  window  opposite  me  ; — 
^— '     It  feels  the  sun  on  its  wings, 
Though  it  cannot  see. 
Can  a  bird  have  thoughts  1    May  be. 


THE     BLl^D    LINNET. 

[By  Robert  Buchanan.] 


II. 


The  sempstress  is  sitting, 
High  o'er  the  humming  street, 

The  little  blind  linnet  is  flitting 
Between  the  sun  and  her  seat. 

All  day  long 


37G 


GLEANINGS   FEOM   POPULAR  AUTHORS. 


>' 


She  stitches  wearily  there, 
And  I  know  she  is  not  young, 

And  I  know  she  is  not  fair  ; 
For  I  watch  her  head  bent  down 

Throughout  the  dreary  day, 
And  the  thin  meek  hair  o'  brown 

Is  threaded  with  silver  grey ; 
And  now  and  then,  with  a  start 
At  the  fluttering  of  her  heart, 

She  lifts  her  eyes  to  the  bird, 
And  I  see  in  the  dreary  place 
The  gleam  of  a  thin  white  face. 

And  my  heart  is  stirr'd. 

III. 

Loud  and  long 

The  linnet  pipes  his  song  ! 

For  he  cannot  see 

The  smoky  street  all  round, 
But  loud  in  the  sun  sings  he, 

Though  he  heai-s  the  murmurous  sound  ; 
For  his  poor  blind  eye-balls  blink, 

While  the  yellow  sunlights  fall. 
And  he  thinks  (if  a  bird  can  think) 

He  hears  a  waterfall. 
Or  the  broad  and  beautiful  river 

Washing  fields  of  corn, 
Flowing  for  ever 

Through  the  woods  where  he  was  born  ; 
And  his  voice  grows  stronger, 

While  he  thinks  that  he  is  there, 
And  louder  and  longer 

Falls  his  song  on  the  dusky  air. 
And  oft  in  the  gloaming  still. 

Perhaps  (for  who  can  tell  ?) 


The  musk  and  the  muskatel. 
That  grow  on  the  window  sill 
Cheat  him  with  their  smell. 

IV. 

But  the  sempstress  can  see 

How  dark  things  be  ; 

How  black  through  the  town 

The  stream  is  flowing  ; 
And  tears  fall  down 

Upon  her  sewing. 
So  at  times  she  tries, 

When  her  trouble  is  stirr'd, 
To  close  her  eyes. 

And  be  blind  like  the  bird. 
And  then,  for  a  minute, 

As  sweet  things  seem, 
As  to  the  linnet 

Piping  in  his  dream  ! 
For  she  feels  on  her  brow 

The  sunlight  glowing. 
And  hears  nought  now 

But  a  river  flowing — 
A  broad  and  beautiful  river, 

Washing  fields  of  corn, 
Flowing  for  ever 

Through  the  woods  where  she  was  born  y 
And  a  wild  bird  winging 
Over  her  head,  and  singing  ; 
And  she  can  smell 
The  musk  and  mu.skatel 

That  beside  her  grow. 
And,  unaware, 
She  murmurs  an  old  air 

That  she  used  to  know  I 


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